


The Smallest of Deeds

by Snarkoleptic



Series: Precipice and Flight [1]
Category: Dragon Age
Genre: Behind-the-Scenes, Dragon Age 2 - Freeform, Gen, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-12-23
Updated: 2011-12-23
Packaged: 2017-10-27 22:43:10
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 40
Words: 49,116
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/300834
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Snarkoleptic/pseuds/Snarkoleptic
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>An exploration of Hawke's interactions with his companions when there isn't a life-or-death quest in the works.  Written as a companion to the Dragon Age 2 storyline.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Requiem : Anders

**Author's Note:**

> The passage of time isn't something that a game can mark very well, so of course I start wondering what everyone does in the time between. Also, we know the big action, the quests, the adventures, the high drama, all the stuff that makes our characters protagonists, but it's the little things that make them _who_ they are rather than _what_ they are.
> 
> I think fate also realizes that, even though I'm far too old for it, I'm a total M!Hawke/Anders fangirl. My first play through ended up running that pairing, even though I had no idea going in it was possible. So, even though I'll be writing interactions with all the characters, for events throughout the game, this is where most of my attention will be going.
> 
> Comments are always welcome!  
> 
> 
> * * *

He had run away after all. Anders had known better than to try to seek comfort from someone he'd only just met, but who else was there? Hawke had _been_ there, hadn't he? How could he not have been just as terrified at the thought of being made tranquil, or seen what it had done to… no, he wouldn't have seen Anders's fear, not when Justice had used it as a foothold to take over. _Small blessings_ , the healer supposed.

Maybe that was it; maybe Hawke's first up-close experience with tranquility had unnerved him enough to… no, again. Couldn't be. He hadn't looked that affected by it, and even seemed sincere in his offer to help after hearing about Justice, whatever his ox of a brother had to say about it. It had only been when _that_ detail about Karl had spilled out among the babble masking his terror and grief that Hawke had stumbled over his words and started to look uncomfortable.

Bah. Justice would tell him that dwelling on something so wholly unrelated to his purpose was pointless. Hadn't stopped him playing the whole thing over and over in his mind as he saw to his patients all day, but that preoccupation had mostly been with Karl and what had happened in the Chantry. As he closed up the clinic, he wished for nothing more than the ability to silence his thoughts in his cups, lamenting not for the first time how permanently he'd ended up trading one sort of spirit for another.

He wondered if he would sleep, knowing what waited for him if he did.

* * *

Anders jerked awake at the sound of his clinic door opening. Years in the Circle and on the run had made him a light sleeper out of necessity, and in that first instant he stilled his body – _all right, all right, clutched in fear_ – waiting to hear who had intruded. A faint bit of daylight still pressed in from the canyon outside, drawing a pitiful sound from his throat at the thought of another true night in Darktown.

 _Got that name right, that's for sure._

"Anders? Master Anders, ser, it's Evelina. It's Evelina and Walter, please, if you're here you've got to come! They got him bad!"

That quickly his fears of Templars and Wardens come to claim him receded. The healer hefted himself off of his makeshift cot, absently noting that he'd forgotten to remove his robes before lying down – _yes, fine, collapsing_ – as he hadn't the heart to turn people away for a bit so he could rest after the nightmare in the Chantry. _Anyone's guess whether I was doing a kindness to them or to me._

Making quick strides toward the surgery table Walter had been placed on, he asked Evelina to tell him what she knew. A crowd had gathered just inside the door, but they didn't concern him at present. Walter was well-known and well-liked among the refugees, and it was only natural that he'd have an audience of hopeful friends. Whatever had happened, the boy certainly wasn't in any condition to say anything about it just then.

"Cricket says the Coterie boys found 'em in one of the byways. Walter ended up taking a knife; he hasn't stopped bleeding since."

 _No trouble believing that; they're both swimming in it._

The boy was barely conscious. There wouldn't be any finesse here, not right away. Hands steady, he cut away the boy's shirt with one of the knives from the surgery tray. Seconds would matter here – he found himself drawing on his energy for the healing even as he discarded the scraps of fabric he'd just gotten out of his way. And still, everything froze for him as he turned back to the table, that energy draining as fast as it had come.

 _His hand, fingers closed around a knife, covered in blood. A single wound, just under the ribs._

"Not now," he breathed, like a prayer, grasping now to regain the power he would need to keep the boy among the living. Forcing the brutal symmetry to the back of his mind, he all but threw the knife back onto the surgery tray and set to work.

In moments like this, Anders understood perfectly Justice's puzzlement over the concept of time. Never mind the logistics of healing, that forcing a wound to mend too quickly or stopping the healing too soon could have consequences as dire as the injury itself. No, watching the seconds, the minutes involved in restoring someone to health, to life, was to Anders the very definition of sacrilege. Life itself was sacred, wasn't it, and marking time spent to preserve it was as profane as counting coin to buy it.

Only as the wound fully closed and the healing magic trickled away was there any sound in the clinic. A deep and healthy breath from the boy on the table, a collective sigh from those gathered by the doors, an exhausted gasp from the healer himself as he turned and leaned against the wall to steady himself.

Evelina, smiling even as tears tracked through the Darktown dust on her cheeks, ushered the crowd out. "All right, you've seen for yourselves he's past the worst of it. I'm sure our lad doesn't need us gawking while Master Anders prods at his bruising."

The unlikely matron turned and pressed a kiss to Walter's forehead, and repeated the benediction on the healer. "I'll be just outside the door, loves, when Walter's patched up and ready to come on home."

It took quite some time, and only added to Anders's worry. Before the knife had come out, the Coterie had evidently had a grand time with fists and feet and Maker knew what else. Anders considered it a minor miracle that there weren't any broken bones to set, as he felt sure the energy needed for a bone to knit was beyond him by now. The worry, though, came from hearing that the Coterie had chosen Walter to start paying for the space the refugees were taking up. Now that the lad had survived the introduction, he'd be expected to start carrying his weight.

Anders could only imagine what would happen if he tried to get involved _there._ If he went in fighting, he could well get himself killed, the price of his interference taken out on Walter. He had no illusions as to whether they'd keep their word if he went in bargaining, and would like as not end up playing pox doctor to the worst Darktown had to offer when the refugees had the real need.

 _Well, at least Walter's feeling better now, even if I've got a new nightmare or three._

The boy was easing himself into one of the spare shirts kept around the clinic for just this kind of situation when the clinic door opened again.

"H-Hawke," Anders simply stared for a moment. _And here I'd thought I'd had it for surprises for the day._ Before he could speak again, Walter cut him off with a similar greeting. If he was amused by the echo, stammer and all, the dark-haired mage didn't show it, instead offering a hesitant smile and greeting them both in turn.

"Didn't see me standing in the crowd when you brought the boy back around? I've had... words… with the first Coterie lieutenant I could dig up. Some of them weren't very _nice_ words, mark you, but I'm happy to report the man saw reason in the end."

Some of the caution in Walter's hope evaporated as he asked, "You mean… will they…"

"They'll leave you alone, and the rest of the lads – and lasses, come to that – in Evelina's care as well. I let her know on my way in, and as soon as you're up and about in the daylight I believe she plans to show several of you how to find me in case the Coterie forget the word they gave me today."

"They… she... you… _thank_ you, Master Hawke, ser!"

Now Hawke showed a real smile in place of the half-hidden one he'd given earlier, though Anders hadn't missed what looked like sadness for a second before the grin took hold. "Rather a lot of names for me, isn't it? Just Hawke will be fine, really."

"Of course ser, it's just I can't thank you enough, Master Hawke."

"Ah, well, I heard 'Hawke' in there somewhere, anyway. If Anders is finished and you're able, I know Evelina is very anxious to see you on your feet."

In a way that managed to be at once both disheartening and adorable, the lad called out his gratitude to both men all the way out the door and, if Anders was any judge, for a moment or two after the door had shut behind him. The healer half-sat, half-leaned on the table where he'd treated the boy and started massaging his temples, wondering what in the world he could possibly say to fill the silence in the empty clinic. He had so many questions about Hawke's involvement in scaring off the Coterie, not to mention his own involvement earlier in the day in scaring off Hawke; he had no idea where to begin.

And so he was surprised once more when Hawke began for him. The new guardian of the refugees half-sat, half-leaned next to Anders on the bloody surgery table, draped an arm across his shoulders, and whispered, "Now?"

The healer's carefully constructed façade undone, he pressed his face to Hawke's shoulder and wept.

* * *

After the tempest subsided, Anders stayed quiet for a time. When Hawke started to suspect he wasn't ready to go back to any of the events from the last day, he started himself.

"I think I owe you an apology. Several, actually, much of an ass as I managed to act today."

That got the healer's attention, and he stood to make eye contact. _All right, pace, but I can look at him while I do it_. "You're… apologizing to me? You… you, you let me drag you to the Chant…" _Damn it, hold it together!_ "…to the Chantry with me without hesitation, you stood for me against Templars, you stood _by_ me when I did the hardest thing I've ever had to do, you went out into Darktown _at night_ to hunt up someone you had to know people avoid even during the day, and _you're_ apologizing to _me_?"

"I… yes. I am. I'm not so daft I couldn't see all of that, Anders, but at the end of it all, after you trusted me with everything you said, I let my own thoughts get in the way of being there for you. Maybe we're not friends yet, maybe we've only known each other barely more than a day, but you still didn't deserve that. You needed to know someone understood, and I was there, so that person was me, and I managed to cock it up entirely. So. I'm sorry."

 _He said "yet." Didn't he? Did I hear that?_ "So you were, what, coming back to say all that and got caught in the crowd waiting while I healed Walter?"

"Not quite. I mean yes, I came back to Darktown to apologize and try to fix it, but I rounded the corner and ended up involved in the Coterie's business with Walter. Three of them, older boys – men, if it comes to that – and Walter already helpless on the ground. I had them drained and hexed before they realized I was there, so it was relatively easy to scare them off with a fireball or three by the time they realized what was happening."

"You… oh, you've studied Entropy. Probably a blessing you sapped them when you did, then, and that would be why I didn't have to mend any bone."

"Still didn't stop them nearly gutting the poor boy. Anyway," Hawke waved off whatever response might have come, "by that time Evelina was coming up the byway on a tear, and once she figured out I'd put the scare into the Coterie, she hefted Walter up without a word and carried him all the way here. Never mind her magic, with her fortitude I'll thank you to remind me never to cross her."

"Ha!" _Maker, I'd forgotten what a genuine smile feels like. How pathetic can a man get? "_ She reminds me of what I've seen of you so far, actually. Ready to help, there when you need her, and fierce as an army when she has someone to stand for."

"Is _that_ what I did earlier, then, stammering like some stunned virgin and fleeing first chance I got?" Hawke asked the question easily, even with a touch of the humor that seemed to hover around the man like flies around rubble, but Anders wasn't about to let the man continue thinking he was an ass.

"I would think, though, that you've more than made up for that with everything since. Even if what I ended up blurting out isn't something you'd thought about before, you still came back."

"Hmm. About that. Even if I hadn't thought about it before, I did plenty of thinking about it after. I'm still trying to decide whether to be surprised at realizing I've always agreed with your sentiment there. Erm. You know, what you said about a whole person and not a body. I imagine I just didn't have much call to think about it before I heard you say it."

The pair lapsed into silence at that, though Anders was amazed the other mage couldn't hear the thoughts racing through his head. _He just said… What did he mean by that?_ Say _something, you bloody idiot!_

In the end, Anders grasped at a question that had been floating around in his mind since he'd met Hawke. "You don't answer to a given name? I mean, I suppose Carver never addressed you while he was here with you, but everyone else just calls you Hawke. Running through the sewers in the dark, saving boys and their families from gangs…" _Standing up with the healer so he can stand again for himself._ "There's more to you than a family name."

"Hmm? Oh. Habit, I suppose. After… after Father died, I was considered to be the one in charge of the household, so that's how most of Lothering greeted me on the rare occasions when they saw me. Wouldn't do for the hidden apostate to run around the village _all_ the time, you know. Man of the house carries the house name and all that, for all that it's really only true in the more rural areas." After a slight pause, he continued, "I'm Davin. If… if you were wondering."

Anders smiled again. _Suppose it's a better expression than the one I've been wearing for a while now…_ "And if _you're_ wondering, Anders isn't my name. Well, it is, it's just that's what they gave me at the Circle. Blond hair, fair skin, it's a reasonable guess." _Maker, where did_ that _come from? He hadn't told_ anybody _about that since he'd finally shaken free of the Circle._

"I-I-I didn't know, when they took me, what I was called, so they picked it for me. I mean." _Shut_ up _, you bloody idiot!_

Sensing rough ground best avoided for now, Hawke chose to return the compliment he'd been paid. "I suppose it works, if all they had to go on was appearances. Same goes for you, though. Hanging about in the sewers in the dark, healing boys and their families and tending their ills. Definitely more to you than a borrowed name. If you'll forgive me for this morning, I'd like to find out what."

 _He's not running away. After I… he's not running away. Maker, man, don't bollocks this up._ "There's nothing to forgive."


	2. Amicus : Varric

"You know, Hawke, now that you've kicked free of Athenril, pissing off the Coterie isn't technically in your job description anymore."

Set back in his chair, feet propped comfortably on the table in the dwarf's private suite at the Hanged Man, the mage barked out a sound that could have passed for a laugh. "Careful, Varric. You keep talking like that, I might start to think you care."

"I'm only thinking about Bianca. She's got enough people to keep an eye on as it is. So tell me: did you really convince a Coterie boss you could make his balls sprout wings and fly away? Because I'm having a hard time imagining what I could come up with to top that."

"I just set off the nightmares; I don't write the script. Although if that's the word you're hearing, I really have to wonder how that one ended up running one of their little bastard squads."

"From the sound of things, Brekker spent the best part of a week checking on himself to make sure he was still all there. Gotta hand it to you, there's never a dull moment with you around." Varric raised his mug in a mock toast before draining it. "I'm even hearing they've started to leave Blondie alone, and charities for the poor are usually gold mines for protection rackets."

"Anders told you that, did he?"

"I didn't say I heard it from him," was all the dwarf would say. "If my sources are to be believed, I'd say it has something to do with the amount of time the scary, testicle-flying mage has been spending at the clinic since that refugee boy had his run-in … and the almighty Hawke is _blushing_ up to his ears! Well, well, well, seems even _I_ don't have the whole story. This I have to hear…"

"What?" _Please tell me I didn't just squeak that._ "Even I know a free clinic is an automatic target for whoever's running the show down there. _And_ if word's spreading that the Coterie have been scared off, it'll only lead to more people running in and out with their headaches and gripes and bellyaches. Not like Anders can't use an extra pair of hands, is all."

"Mmhm."

"Maybe I'm just worried what Mother will think when it gets back to her that you're telling people I fly testi… shut up, dwarf." Now that was out of his mouth, Hawke had to worry the storyteller would head straight to his mother and tell her just that, the very next time he left the house.

"Mmhm. So before you have a fit, why don't we move along to the real reason you're here. Bartrand's getting cranky about not being able to get his financing together by now. Well, crankier. You know how he is."

"We've about half put by, provided Gamlen doesn't figure out where we're stashing it. Hasn't been a lot of work to be found just lately, but you know how that goes. Soon as we get one job, half a dozen more will line up to compete for priority."

"That is generally how the game is played. Here," Varric slid an envelope down the table. "My contacts in Hightown have come up with a couple of rumors you might be able to turn into profit if you're quick about it."

Glancing over the notes the envelope held, Hawke considered his options. "Two missing nobles and a mine full of unspecified and probably hideous monsters. You do know how to show a man a good time, Varric."

"All that danger, you'd be smart to drag Blondie along. Strictly for healing purposes, of course."

Saying nothing, Hawke drained his own mug and waved at Norah for a refill.


	3. Res Dolore : Anders

"Silver for your thoughts?" Anders regarded Hawke across the table, speaking without a break in movement as he put poultices together to replenish the clinic's stores now they had a quiet moment.

"Ha. You're sure I'm thinking something worth that much?"

 _Does he truly not realize his worth,_ the healer wondered, _or is the humor what gets him past the rough spots? Maker knows it would take a golem not to be affected by that last case. You'd think I'd recognize coping more readily, if that's what this is, often as I use the same trick._ "If that ends up being the case, you can always make change later."

Hawke huffed a breath and put down his own bandages. He wasn't yet so skilled that he could carry on without concentrating on what he was doing. "I was just thinking about your last patient, Marlon you called him. He couldn't have seen more than, what, nine or ten summers? For all his da' was fretting over the sprain, it didn't take a mind reader to know he was responsible for causing it."

"Truth? I'm surprised it's taken this long for you to see a case like that. My only wonder is whether being a refugee made the man so hard, or if he was born that way."

"How do you… How do you do it?" Hawke lifted his hands and let them fall to his lap again, a gesture of helplessness that mirrored what Anders felt. "How do you stop yourself adding 'and keep your hands off the boy, you bloody great horse's arse' to your after-care instructions?"

"I learned early on that involving myself that way only guarantees a return visit, sooner than later. Sometimes from the patient, sometimes from the parent, and for entirely different reasons."

"And yet you go on, easing what pain you can. You told me not long ago that you didn't understand my courage in standing up to the Knight-Captain in the Gallows, calling him out on the abuses the mages have suffered at Templars' hands for generations. I think you said you didn't see the strength for such a bold move in yourself. I'm telling you, after watching you treat that boy, I'm by the Void seeing it in you this afternoon."

Now Anders did stop the automatic folding of cloth and reaching for herbs, stricken as he was by the quiet admiration in Hawke's voice. _Honestly, hearing such a thing from anyone would have been a surprise, but from_ Hawke _of all people…_ "I… Well… Thank you. Perhaps it just manifests in us differently, then." Anxious to hide his embarrassment at how he had received the compliment, he resumed his work on the poultices.

"I noticed you used Marlon's name frequently while treating him, as well," Hawke said slowly. "About as often, I'd say, as his father called him 'Boy'."

Seconds in silence stretched into minutes, both men finishing the task before them. Hawke didn't press for more, which only served to make Anders think that much harder about what was expected of him at this point in the conversation. _Maybe it's because he doesn't expect an answer, doesn't demand elaboration, that I find myself wanting to offer it. Well, we'll see._

The healer gathered up the finished product of their work together, careful to avoid the other man's eyes as he did so. Only after he had turned away to store the poultices in their cupboard did he start to speak again, choosing his path carefully and very deliberately.

"I… know what it's like, to be addressed as a thing more than a person. I don't just mean the people who think 'mage' and fear to learn more. I told you shortly after we met that I hadn't remembered on reaching the Circle what I was called, well… For all that I went late to the Circle, my magic manifested early. Nearly seven years spent on the run with my… my parents."

Presently Anders moved, almost aimlessly, to the window beside the cabinet, still set against looking at his friend. Gazing down, he found himself fixating on one of the docks below. The tide crashing against it was anything but gentle, a fitting backdrop for the tide raging in his thoughts.

"Maker knows why they kept me. I don't have complete memories of the time before my magic showed up, but I have enough to know we were a… a family, a real one, like I imagine yours was when you were young. All I know is, once they had to start hiding me away, all that changed. In all my living memory, I can't recall them ever once using my name. I was 'the boy.' I was 'the burden.' I was 'the mistake.'

"So I guess to answer your question – the one you didn't ask – I used Marlon's name as I did out of some vain hope that he won't end up like me."

Anders started when he felt the hand on his shoulder, though he kept his focus on the pier; he hadn't heard the other mage move over to join him at the window. He wanted to continue, to say something to pull the conversation back to something – anything – more pleasant, but speaking now would betray the hard ball in his throat, the liquid fire in his eyes.

"I think, Anders," Hawke began, wondering if the healer would recognize the deliberate use of his name now, "that your hope isn't so vain as you might believe. I'd be lying if I denied my curiosity about your name, so you should know it's my privilege to have listened to what you've just said. What I _heard_ , however, is the strength of a man so moved by memory as to use it to stop others losing themselves in the same way."

Now Hawke turned around and leaned against the glass, looking askance at Anders as he did so. "And when I hear 'Anders' – your name – the image that comes to mind is a selfless and tireless healer, someone who has managed to make a good man out of the name he was given. I was mistaken, then, when I called it borrowed. You've earned it, many times over. And whatever Marlon calls himself when he becomes a man of his own, I should like to hope he'll be half so lucky as to end up, as you put it, like you."

Pushing away from the window, Hawke gathered his staff. "And now, away to my hovel to get cleaned up. See you in an hour or so for Wicked Grace with the rest, yes?" So saying, he clapped Anders on the shoulder and walked away, gathering that the healer wanted a space of time to be alone, and understanding just as well that he wouldn't want to ask for it.

As the clinic door clicked softly shut, Anders managed to pull his eyes away from where they'd rested. _Maker,_ he thought. _The way he said all those things, he's almost got me believing them._


	4. Adversarius : Carver

"I'm beginning to think you don't even plan to take me along with you when the time comes to go to the Deep Roads." Carver leaned against the door to their shared room, glaring at his brother with as much accusation as he could manage. It hadn't been very long at all since Davin had presented him with the letters revealing his namesake. Then again, it had taken even less time for them to be back at each other's throats.

"Are we really doing this _now_ , Carver?" Davin Hawke was filthy, stinking, and exhausted, having finally stretched out on the pitiful excuse for a bed he had in his uncle's Lowtown hovel. It was during another day spent helping Anders at the clinic that a section in one of the lesser-used byways in Darktown had caved in. Only a small blessing; lesser-used hadn't meant vacant. There had barely been enough left in him to see that Anders collapsed on his cot rather than the clinic floor before he'd made his way home – _and Maker, what a long walk that had been_ – with visions of a bath and a week's worth of sleep. Possibly both at the same time.

"Then when, Brother? I'd say it could wait for the next time we go out on a job together, but that hasn't happened lately. And when you're not out saving the world and plundering for your expedition, you're spending all your time hanging around that abomination in the sewers. So yes, we're doing this now."

Hawke sighed, pressing a hand to his eyes and gathering his thoughts. "I think," he said quietly, "that you've just hit on the reason for so many things that don't meet your standards currently."

"Yes, yes, ' _he's not an abomination, Carver'_. _'He does good work, Carver.'_ _'He's pulled us out of more than his share of tight spots, Carver.'_ Well, so have I, and I don't see any gratitude for that."

"Neither do you see Anders asking for any. Or anyone else, for that matter. The last time I invited you out for a job, I heard nothing but complaints, about the nature of the work, about the rest of the team, about the pissant little reward on offer… Maker, Carver, I swear I could hand you a purse full of gold and you'd bitch that you had nowhere to put it. And now here you are, bitching again when I would have thought I'd given you what you wanted. For all you had to say about the job and the company the last time – the last _several_ times – I could have sworn I was doing you a favor leaving you out of it."

"Or doing yourself a favor, since you don't care to hear how anything might be done differently. That mage is the only person I've seen you listen to since we got here. And instead you leave me here to tolerate Gamlen while you run about having all the fun."

"Yes, Carver, hauling bodies out of rubble was a grand old time. I fully recommend it for an evening when the tavern isn't to your liking." Davin couldn't remember the last time he'd felt so bloody _tired_ , and it had nothing at all to do with pulling refugees out of underground wreckage. "Let me be as plain as I can for you, because for all that we grew up together we seem to be having a damned hard time making sense to each other.

"Nobody is forcing you to sit here in this house, whatever I happen to be doing. For what it's worth, I'll tell you your absence was noticed in those last runs without you. However little value you think a swordsman has, you were missed."

"Then why-"

"Because," Hawke shifted in bed to regard his brother fully, "you assign that same low value to everybody else. 'The mage' has a name, Carver. I've told you before that I wish to the Maker you'd use it. 'The elf' also has a name, and his reach and skill with a sword happen to match yours. If you weren't so damned competitive, you'd find the two of you would work together very well. Instead, you complain when _he_ trips over you, because you can't seem to grasp that survivability and fighting as a unit are more important than showing off. 'That whore,' in case you're not seeing a trend here, has a name as well, and she's helping you when she stuns something for you to swing at; she's not insulting you by knocking the challenge down a peg. Although, you didn't have much complaining to do after she managed to pop open that box with your shiny new sword in it.

"Do you see where I'm going with this? As long as you look at everyone around you as an insult to your abilities or a threat to your precious image, taking you along carries more risk for the rest of us than reward, aside from being as annoying as the bloody Void. If personality was all it was, we'd suffer it for the use of your blade, but Carver… For whatever reason, all of those people are following _my_ lead, and I'm damned if I'm going to add to the danger they're in by exposing them to your reckless mistakes. I've already lost one person who trusted me to keep her safe, and I swear to Andraste I will _not_ let that happen again."

Hawke expected no response, and wasn't surprised when the thrumming silence held. He turned to the wall to try for sleep after a moment, almost whispering, "Good night, Brother."


	5. Requiem Redux : Anders

"Silver for your thoughts?" Anders asked again, prompting a wide-eyed stare from Hawke over the crafting table. Different day, different materials; this time it was lyrium draught being brewed, and Hawke was watching more than doing, learning the intricacies involved in creating the potions. It was one of the rare occasions that called for the clinic to be closed all day, as running out of mana without a quick way to replenish it could be the difference between someone's life or death.

"Again?" Hawke managed to work up a half-smile, though it died out long before it reached his eyes. "By my count, I still owe you a silver, twenty in change from the last two times you offered."

Part of him wanted to let it go at that, but Anders could clearly see the weight his friend was carrying. They'd known each other long enough now that he didn't have to look for it to be sure. "All right, maybe I just want to be sure I have your full attention on the task at hand. Can't have you distracted and getting me drunk with a badly mixed potion while my hand is hovering over some poor soul's wound."

"Ha. If you were anyone other than who you are, I might believe that." This time it was Hawke's turn to wander over and stare out the window, though he stayed silent.

Anders pushed to think past the warmth that statement brought up in him. "I distinctly recall you saying shortly after we met that I could tell you anything. Maker knows I've done enough telling you everything since. Isn't it about time I returned the sentiment, and the favor?"

Hawke rubbed at his face with his hands for a moment more before asking, "Why do you follow me?"

 _All right, not what I was expecting, but I can go with it._ "You don't mean me in particular, do you? Because the answer to that one's fairly obvious if you think about it."

"You, everyone else… All of you, you never seem to hesitate to go along with my plan, whatever that is, even if all I'm doing is winging it."

"I think I'm beginning to see where you're going here. You're not asking me why we follow you, are you? You want to know why we trust you." At Hawke's barely perceptible nod, Anders continued, "I'll make you a deal. You tell me why you're asking, and then you'll have your answer."

His friend was quiet again for long enough to make Anders worry he'd taken the wrong approach, when the other mage launched into a retelling of his argument with his brother on the day of the collapse. "Through the whole argument, I couldn't help thinking he had a point, you know? I should have been the one to pull that ogre's attention outside Lothering. Maker, that feels like an eternity ago, but it should have been me. I got my sister…" when Hawke's voice broke, Anders felt a piece of himself shatter with it. "I got my sister killed. Why would any of you trust me not to let the same thing happen to you?"

"Hawke… Davin…" The healer stopped a moment to settle himself, to choose his next words, though he let his own tears fall as they would. "The responsibility you take for those around you… It's staggering sometimes, how strong you are for everyone else. Any one of us could just as easily ask why you _take_ us with you. I'll tell you, because I _know_ you, that you do it because you trust us to give our best for everyone's benefit. Whether you realize it or not, that's all any of us ask of you in return." He tried a winning smile when Hawke glanced back. "We just all happen to be very capable people, so our best turns out to be really, really good."

Hawke's shoulders began to shake with the effort of holding in … whatever it was, something more than he'd said so far, the healer was sure of it. Anders moved to him quickly, placing a hand on each of his shoulders. Hawke stiffened for barely a moment, out of his element with roles reversed. When he turned to Anders and broke, the healer found it hard to hold him under the weight of the wracking sobs his friend was letting out. And in that moment, he knew.

"Maker's breath, lo – Davin, have you been holding on to Bethany all this time?" _Any luck, he didn't catch what I almost called him just there. If it even matters anymore._ "It's been a year and more, and you've been bottling your grief all along, haven't you?" Anders settled against the window, stroking Hawke's hair, gently rubbing his back. He really wasn't at home in the soothing-a-friend arena, so he kept to his memory of what Hawke had done for him after… after Karl.

Eventually, grief spent, Hawke shifted a bit to support his own weight and look at Anders, though he didn't make any move to break contact fully. Anders kept tracing a circle with his hand between the other mage's shoulders, and, seeing so much of the strain gone from his face, tried that winning smile again.

"I could always have gone with Isabela's reason for following you, which is to watch how your ass moves in those leathers."

In all his life, the healer couldn't remember a more rewarding feeling than what came with hearing Hawke's laugh.

* * *

Potions brewed, bottled, and locked away, emotions calmed, Anders leaned against the wall until Hawke looked over at him. "Now that things have settled, there are some things I think you need to hear."

Even saying so decisively, Anders paused a moment, waiting for an objection, before he remembered his purpose. "The first is a simple fact, whether you believe it or not, and I want no argument. What happened to Bethany is _not_ your fault, any more than what happened to Aveline's husband is hers." _I think that might be the nicest thing I've ever said about her._ "However you resolve yourself to that, if you struggle with it, I hope you'll come find me again."

Hawke simply nodded.

"Good," the healer moved on. "Then you should also know that, hard as I know it was for you, the 'blow-up' you said you had with Carver wasn't completely fruitless. Were you aware he came to see me the day after you pinned his ears back?"

"He… did what?"

"He came to the clinic. He didn't say anything about what prompted the visit, but he apologized for … well, everything that's come out of his mouth over the months we've been acquainted."

"That's… huh. He hasn't said more than two words to me since then."

Anders's lips quirked into a half-smile. "Somehow I'm not surprised. I rather got the impression he planned to have a similar conversation with the rest of our little band of miscreants. He said outright that he plans to ask Fenris to teach him more about tandem sword work. You got through to him, Hawke."

"Aww. What happened to 'Davin?'"

 _There he is._ "Davin." _And damn if it doesn't feel nice to say it, too._ "Since you told me exactly what you had to say to Carver, I've one more bit for you before my fountain of wisdom dries up. You told him about not wanting to place the rest of us at any needless risk, and even though it hurt you to do it, you let him know that the way he acted _was_ a needless risk." Anders held up a hand to forestall the argument he knew was coming. "I _know_ you, remember. Maybe you didn't want to say it, but you said it anyway. And _that_ is why we follow you."

Hawke stood for a moment, absorbing, so Anders continued. "And now, away with you to your hovel. See you in an hour or so for Wicked Grace, yes?"

"Clever. But not before I thank you for being here." Before the healer could even think to respond, Hawke pressed a kiss to his temple. Walking backwards out the door, he called out a parting shot: "Oh, and that bit about Wesley not being Aveline's fault? I do believe that's the nicest thing I've ever heard you say about her."

Anders gingerly touched his temple, too preoccupied by the fluttering in his stomach to care that Hawke… Davin… had managed to get the last word.


	6. Audentes : Isabela

"Hawke, a word?" Isabela made the request after the last Wicked Grace hand had been played, the coins swept off the table, and most of the party gone to sleep the evening off. Utterly confident as she was, he found her already halfway to her usual place at the bar before she'd finished speaking, sure he would follow.

"Happens there are two things I wanted to discuss with you, and you're far too sober for one of them." The pirate gestured at the drinks she'd ordered. "Shall I thank you for the refreshment, since these come courtesy of the coin I took off of you an hour ago?"

"That being the only coin your cheating hands managed to snag from me all evening, yes?" Hawke matched the smirk on her face. "Why don't we call it even?"

"You take _all_ the fun out of rubbing it in. I wanted to ask you to translate something for me."

"You're aware I don't have the benefit of a Circle education with books written in all the world's languages, yes?"

"Not so sure you're missing out there, sweetheart, _and_ you're not drinking fast enough." Absently, Isabela rested the point of her knife on the bar and set it to spinning. "But I'm sure after so many years' experience, you do speak Carver, don't you?"

"Carver? What did he have to say to you?"

Isabela let out her familiar sigh. "If I knew that, Hawke, I wouldn't be asking you, now would I? He showed up here a few days ago, riveted his gaze to my face, and stammered something completely unintelligible. I have it on good authority from the Paragon upstairs that he was sorry for something, but the poor boy made no sense at all."

"You did nothing at all to enhance the effect you've had on him since the two of you met?"

"You take that back! Honestly, I can't believe you'd even hint that I'd have to put forth a bit of extra effort to charm your brother out of… or into… anything I wanted."

"And you were wearing then what you're wearing now?" Hawke raised a brow.

"When have you seen me in anything else? I do have an image to maintain."

"Yes, well, one can hardly apologize to a pair of tits for being one, can he?"

This brought a most unladylike snort from the pirate, who congratulated him. "Well played, my dear. Not often anyone gets one over on me."

"Not unless you've a reason for them to, no." Hawke grinned. "And you really did give me that one, telling me you'd already talked to Varric about the whole thing. _And_ you'd know I was already aware of what he was doing, so you hadn't any hope of convincing me he was after you. So tell me, what am I going to have to pay for my easy victory?"

Isabela considered for a moment, and decided this might actually be more fun with Hawke sober. With a decidedly predatory edge in her voice and a knowing look in her eye, she said, "Anders." And promptly burst into delighted laughter.

"Andraste's flaming nipple ornaments, Hawke, I've never seen a man go that red, that fast. It's up to your ears, even! Well, that doesn't give me the answer I was after, but it does give me so many new and _fascinating_ questions…"

"You… Erm… He… We…" _Maker's sake, man, stop and breathe, collect yourself; you're only making it more fun for her._

As her wild cackling came more under control, the pirate eyed the mage critically. "I _know_ you're not _that_ pure, Hawke; I'd have been able to tell the day I met you. Oh, now I have even more reason to figure this out. I know you were at his clinic today – his _closed_ clinic – and you certainly look much less… burdened… than you have in recent weeks, but that _can't_ be it, because you're the last person in my acquaintance who would apologize for… relating… to anyone. He did seem very familiar with you today, come to think of it – Davin – but the way you two look at each other I'd swear you had only just met. Oh come _on,_ you can tell Auntie Isabela anything. And I do mean _anything._ "

"There isn't anything!" _Oh, Maker's balls, another squeak. Sooner or later I'll have to get used to the fact that he's another man, even if there isn't anything going on. No sense apologizing for it, she's got that right._ "Fine, fine, there's the price for your tits from a minute ago, paid in full. How about you tell me what answer you were after in the first place?"

Isabela's lips spread into a slow smile. "We'll get there, sweet thing. Right now I want to know if there are feathers anywhere other than on his shoulders…"

Even with his eyes closed, Hawke couldn't begin to picture… wait, wait, yes, he could. _Sigh._ "Is that the time? And here we have a date on the Wounded Coast first thing tomorrow…"

" _Such_ a spoilsport." She sighed, finished her drink, and waved away her fun. "Listen. When we were out after those apostitutes in the wee hours this morning, did Anders seem at all… distracted, to you? I mean, I was never worried that he didn't have us covered, but there did seem to be something on his mind. Teasing aside, if he's going to say anything to anyone, it would be you, so…"

"Aww, Isabela, we love you, too."

"Fine, fine, forget I said anything."

"It's appreciated. Really. And it gives me the excuse I've been looking for to turn something around on him, so it works all around. If there's anything there, I'll get it out of him when I see him again."

As Hawke stood to leave, the pirate started counting. She gave him no more than five steps. After only four, he turned back fast enough to knock over a barstool. "Wait. Wait. You said looking at each other…"

The smirk back on her face, Isabela took another drink before responding. "Of course. You don't think I'm the only one who walks behind you for the view, do you? Really, I don't know why you haven't latched on and taken him for a tumble yet…"

Something about the way her tone sobered at the end, there… "Yes, well, that's the problem, isn't it?"

"Oh, you _are_ smarter than you look." The sigh, again. "All right, at the risk of completely ruining my reputation, I _was_ going to tell you to be careful. And maybe, just possibly, that's why I thought you'd be better off drunk."

A wink, this time. Though she knew she wasn't fooling anyone, there were appearances to keep up. "Anyone who's circled round the maelstrom as often as I have can tell you that Anders has been… well… broken. If you crooked your finger at him he'd follow you anywhere, but…"

"The ' _but'_ would be why I haven't crooked my finger yet, yes. If it goes anywhere, it's going to be because he wants it to, not because I've convinced him he wants it to."

"And it has nothing at all to do with the fact that none of your previous tumbles have been men, I'm sure."

"I'm not even going to _ask_ how you came to that."

"Best not, but I thank you for confirming it." Back in form, the pirate couldn't resist a bit more fun. "You know, if you need someone to explain beforehand – or during – how it works…"

"Maker, Isabela, if listening to your jokes for the last three months hasn't told me all I need to know, I really doubt there's anything else you could give me now." With that, Hawke set right the barstool he'd knocked over and left for home.

 _Blast._ Isabela pouted at her drink. _I wanted to hear him squeak again._


	7. Prima Regula : Anders

Poultice day again. At least it had been slow, so Anders hadn't felt bad – _overmuch_ – about closing the clinic early to take time for restocking. For the first time since he'd met the man, though, he wished Hawke wasn't so damned determined to help out. _Great. Fine. Now I can feel guilty for thinking_ that _, too, on top of everything else I have to figure out how to apologize for. When it rains…_

By now, Hawke was proficient enough with the bandages that he didn't need to stop putting them together to kick-start a conversation. As soon as Anders reached the table, Hawke put a sly look in his eye and tossed out, "Silver for your thoughts?" _Wait. Did… did he just flinch?_

The healer, straddling the bench on his side of the crafting table, didn't look up. Hawke tried again: "Hmm. The way your face looks now, I doubt I'd knock my debt down with any change due from you." _That's… not just his eyes watering. No light-hearted banter today, then._

"Anders," at this, the healer jerked away again, though it was barely above a whisper. _Maker, it's like he's expecting me to hurt him._ At that, Hawke ran through a mental recap of their recent conversations, hoping he hadn't _already_ hurt the man. Coming up empty, he circled around the table and sat down at his friend's back. "Anders, have I… done something wrong?"

Visibly shaking now, body and voice, Anders answered, "N-no. I-I-I did. I-I should have… but I didn't…" Sweating, breath coming in short pants, the healer started to rock, ever so slightly, back and forth where he sat.

 _Andraste guide me…_ Hawke had never been religious, had only ever vaguely acknowledged the Maker as a convenient medium for cursing, but he hadn't seen his friend this rattled since… never. It wasn't even this bad the night after the business in the Chantry. Oh, _shit_ , he hadn't thought it was this bad, this big, when he and Isabela had talked. He knew _something_ was going on, but Maker, it had only been a couple of days.

"The way you're reacting to me, Anders, it sounds like you're waiting for me to hit you for something."

Anders jerked again, as if hearing it spoken aloud would make it happen. _Breathe. You know what happens to people who panic this badly, you're a_ healer _, just breathe._ "Hawke… I…"

 _Damn, damn,_ damn _. He's backing off, not even using my name. He must really think he's going to set me off. Isabela was right; if he wasn't starting to get attached, he wouldn't be this scared to tell me what's wrong. Go carefully, Hawke…_ "Anders, I can't imagine what has you worried that I'll react that badly, but I promise you, I won't. If it's as bad as you think and I need to make a dramatic exit, I'll slam the door on my way out, maybe tip over a table, but I'm not about to hurt _you_."

Hawke reached out, started to trace that familiar circle on his friend's back, and continued. "Breathe now, deeply, in and out. As many times as you need. I've nowhere I have to be, other than right here. Breathe, and then you can tell me. Remember, you can tell me anything?" _Maker, what must be going on inside his head right this minute?_

True to his word, Hawke fell quiet, content to wait until Anders was ready to talk. The healer didn't calm himself enough to talk only to fill that silence; more, it was the absence of the comfort contained within Hawke's voice that prompted him to speak. _Even if he's livid, he'll talk again after I tell him._

"Part of it… the actual _thing_ isn't so bad, or it shouldn't be. It's that no one who's ever found out about it has handled it well. Last time it came up was with the Wardens, and the commander… He didn't tolerate weakness. But others, friends, l… lovers… Templars… Everyone who's known, _everyone_ , has used it to turn away from me or to… to… to hurt me with it.

"S-so the big thing is, Hawke, I mean what has me so… so tied up is you've been my friend, and finding this out… This is where everyone I've known, who's… who's mattered, anyway, everyone but one, has just stopped, and it means… it's going to get in the way of your life, your plans, I know it will, and… I let you depend on me without knowing, and you'll be right to be angry, so…"

 _Broken,_ Hawke thought. _That's what Isabela called him, but I had no idea. If the actual_ thing _isn't that bad, how in Thedas can the man think he'll deserve my anger? Well, that one's easy, isn't it? It's what he's gotten up to now. That, and rejection, and those Templars had better be praying to the Maker this poor man never names them…_

"Before… before the Circle, when I was kept hidden…"

 _This isn't where I expected him to go._ Hawke kept his hand moving, wishing he knew something else, anything else, that might work. _I'll pray to the Maker myself if he's not so far gone that he's actually giving me some foundation for whatever's going on…_

"When they had to, had to hide me, it was always in, in cellars, and pantries, and if, if, if we were on the road, in between, maybe a crate to hide in. And there was never any light, ever, and the, the, the whip, if, if I tried to find any. And when they took me, it was at night, and they, they, put me in the wagon, and it didn't have, it didn't have any windows, and I couldn't find any light because they, they, they chained me to the seat to hold me there."

 _As I thought. That_ look _on his face in the sanctuary when Tarohne – demon-fucking, bitch-born daughter of a Maker-forsaken whore_ – _snuffed the torches, that look he'd had for just a second after his wisp had flickered out into the room._ Still with the circle on his back, slow and steady. _And, Maker, just going through all this, he has to be reliving it all._ Has _to be…_

"After, any time after the first time I got away from the Circle, if they weren't happy… It was always the same cell. Glyphed, so I couldn't cast anything. Even if it wasn't an escape, it was always the same cell. Always d-dark. Sometimes…" Anders trailed off here, picking up again after a moment. "The last time, before I finally got free, after they brought me back that last time… It was a year, in the same cell."

Hawke found himself incapable of forming a coherent thought for a few seconds. _He's calming now. If he's calming, so can I. But… A year? A_ year _? All that's holy, this man's life has done a bang-up job creating a phobia for him, and I_ know _there's more than just the cell. No, I'm not praying for them. If I_ ever _find out who those Templars were, I will move heaven and earth…_

"And now, if it's sudden, if I'm not ready for it, or if it stays dark for too long, it just… It takes me back. In the sanctuary, I could have… if you had needed me, when I froze, I could have missed healing one of you. It… I can be ready for it, I can handle it, but… You're getting closer to going to the Deep Roads, and I'm the only healer you know, and I should have told you earlier, but… I… didn't."

 _Breathe, Hawke. He can't hear any anger when you speak again; you know what that will do to him._

"So. Now you know. For what it's worth, I'm… sorry. I put you at risk, not telling you. So…"

 _Keep the hand moving, Hawke. Breathe, and_ fix this.

"All right. The way I see it, Anders, all this, everything you just relived to explain what I saw for just a second in that sanctuary, has been made worse by the certainty that I'll take the news the same way those in your past have. Right?"

"In… infinitely. Yes."

"Hear this first, then. I'm not going anywhere. I can't fault you for worrying over what I might do. It sounds like the responses you've gotten up to now have run the gamut from, what, abandonment to… I don't even want to think about it, and I won't make you think about it either. Just… Maker's _breath_ , Anders, how have you kept getting close to people, letting people in? A lesser man would have broken and given it up long ago."

Anders shifted now, turned to lean back against the table, and Hawke could see it. _The man's carrying a bloody bottomless well of hope, and looking at me like I've just given him the world._

"Maker, I can see now why Father kept us away from the Circle. We'll talk about handling it, we'll talk about the Deep Roads, we'll talk about the bloody weather when we get back to the bandages. Right now, this second, has it sunk in that I'm staying? I'm still coming to the clinic when I can to help. I'm still dragging you with me when I run off chasing nobles or the monster of the day. I'm still hauling you to the Hanged Man every week, if only to have someone there who loses more than I do. Do you believe it?"

 _He's almost there. He looks like he's about to finally pop the cork and let it out. Let's see if we can get him there…_

"One other thing, Anders. I didn't understand the… depth… of everything, but I saw your face in the sanctuary, and I suspected… Well. I went to the Circle here yesterday to talk to an old friend of Father's, and ended up learning something." Holding his palm out in front of the healer, Hawke summoned a wisp, healthy and bright and vibrant even with the daylight pouring in through the windows.

Eyes wide, Anders looked from the wisp, to Hawke, to the wisp again. Hawke gathered him close, the dam broke, and he believed.

* * *

Poultices stocked, supplies cleaned away, Anders huffed out a breath. "Were you really going to let me get away without going into detail about how I'm going to survive the Deep Roads?"

"How hard can it be? We've both got wisps. We stay out of the thick, so there's no reason I can't be relatively close by in case you need to grab me for something to steady yourself. We can arrange for camp watches to be taken together to keep that true. Is there any reason why that wouldn't work?"

"Well… no. None at all, actually."

"And you're willing to go, with that arrangement? I won't force you."

"No, you need me. I can heal, and I can sense the Darkspawn. You'll need that advantage. If you…" _Maker, you know how it goes when you ask for things…_

"I'll be there to keep you steady."

Anders closed his eyes. _Or maybe you can learn differently._

"Good. That's settled then, no reason to dwell on it. Something else I want you to think about, that I need you to understand in order for us to be friends, or… whatever it is we are. I don't want you thinking you let me down by waiting to tell me anything. You _can_ tell me whatever you'd like, but you don't owe it to me to dig into anything and spill it out. Let's call that our first and only rule: when and if you're ready, not before."

"I… Hawke…" _Whatever it is we are? Is he waiting for_ me _to put a name to it?_

"Davin."

"Davin," Anders laughed, nodding his agreement to keep the name.

 _There he is._ "Not sure I'll ever tire of hearing that. I think you're the only person other than my mother who uses it anymore."

"Davin… Just, thanks. I think it's clear I haven't really known, other than Karl, what a real friend is. So… thanks, for tolerating me while I figure it out."

"You already have, if you haven't forgotten wearing yourself out trying to hold me up not long ago."

"That was… I mean, you've done so much more of that kind of thing…"

"Oh, no. No, no no. In here, we don't keep score."

Smiling again, Anders found he felt better now than he had in years. "All right then."

"That's what Wicked Grace is for."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> * * *
> 
>   
>  Damn, but I hate doing this to Anders. Getting clear of the new-friend baggage now, though. 


	8. Invitus Custodit : Aveline

_She was meant for this_ , Hawke considered as he watched his stalwart friend outline orders for her men. _Even if she hasn't the title yet, they look to her as some sort of beacon, and it's nothing at all to do with what she did to get here._

Closing the door behind the last of the smartly-turned out guard, Hawke said as much to his unlikely friend.

"You think so? I'd have thought, if this kind of command was my destiny as you seem to think it is, that I'd have been able to beat some sense into that tit of a brother of yours before you had to break whatever was left between you to get him there."

Hawke ran a hand over his face. _If anyone was going to lay it out that directly, it would be Aveline._ "You may not have the whole story, then. I never said anything to him that you hadn't before. I think it was the fact that I held the wedge and was finally willing to shove it in between that got him thinking. There's a price for everything, I suppose."

Hawke moved into the office and sat, rather more unceremoniously than he'd planned, in one of the visitors' chairs.

"He told me some of what you had to say when he visited, you know? Not for nothing, Hawke, but your ability to see the value everyone brings to a fight is why you command the respect you do."

"Really?" Hawke winked. "Learned that from you, you know."

"I…" Pleased, ridiculously pleased, Aveline evaluated the things she wanted to say. "I've been worried for you, Hawke."

"When haven't you been?" the mage responded easily, fully aware that Aveline had as many channels as Varric for keeping people close, even if they were at opposite ends of a spectrum. "We've missed you at the Hanged Man lately. I was starting to wonder if I'd have to get myself arrested in order to see you again."

"Don't go there, Hawke."

"I know, I know, law and order. And don't fret yourself about what we think, either. For things to have gotten as bad as they were by the time we hauled Donnic out of that alley, we know you'll have your hands full for some while fixing it."

"Yes, law and order. It should mean something… I dread whatever I might hear of you next, you know? If you were anyone else, I wouldn't be able to trust that it's the right of things that causes you to go outside the lines when you do."

"It does mean something, Aveline. But only when it's tempered by compassion. Somewhere inside of you, you know that. It's why you command the respect you do."

"I should have known better than to think that would soften you up." Laughing now, Aveline took her own seat. "Listen, Hawke… Brennan took down a bandit the other day, one who had waylaid a dispatch from Kinloch Hold. There was a rather weighty envelope with your name on it, the contents of which this bandit was very interested in."

"Don't keep us in suspense, Guard-Captain. Do tell."

"This is serious, Hawke. The man didn't survive to be arrested, so there's no telling who's got their eye on you enough to rifle through your mail. Bad enough you've got a target on you, but the letters themselves worry me a bit."

"Ah, so cousin Amell got my letter, did she? Good."

"Nightmares, Hawke? Directing them?"

"It's a weapon, Aveline, no different than your sword. Surely even you heard about Brekker and his flying balls."

"I think Varric rushed straight here to tell me about that, actually. Soon as he finished sharing it with Leandra, in any event."

 _Maker…_ "It was an accident the first time, but it'll be a comfort knowing I can repeat it if he crosses a line again. Provided, of course, you intend to let me have those letters."

On a sigh, Aveline pulled a fat envelope out of a desk drawer and tossed it to the mage.

"Excellent. Some of the other research I'd asked for is included here as well. Truth, Aveline, I'm more interested in the anesthetic possibilities coming out of that school of magic than I am in winged genitalia."

"I knew that, Hawke, which is something else I wanted to discuss with you. You're doing good work in that clinic, but the company you're doing it in…"

"I always wondered what it would be like to have a big sister to look out for my virtue. Don't worry, Aveline, I'm still a maiden, pure as the driven snow. As far as Kirkwall is concerned, anyway, more's the pity."

"That's not what I meant, and you know it. Or only partly, anyway. You'd have seen by now what kind of trouble is on that man, and adding in some vengeful spirit besides? You're asking for it, you really are."

"Aveline… All right, you've got a point. I'm not going to betray any confidences, and I know that isn't what you're asking. Point is, I've also seen enough of his good days by now to know it's worth it. He's worth it. And I'm not the only one doing good work in that clinic, you know."

"Granted, and that's why the Templars haven't gone for him yet. The situation with the refugees would be infinitely more difficult if he wasn't there. It's just…"

"Hold. The situation with the refugees isn't any concern of the Templars. My, my, seems I'm not the only one with a friend in this particular high place, am I?"

When Aveline looked away, Hawke knew he had the right of it. Not that he was surprised she'd taken the healer under her protective wing. He only wondered when it would dawn on her that she was doing it as much for Anders as for himself.

"The secret's safe with me, Aveline. And thanks."


	9. Meliora Tempora

"Maker, what a day," Anders said, half to himself, as Hawke saw the last patient out and kicked away the stopper holding the door open.

The patients had been plentiful enough, that was true, but the day had started even before then. Hawke's inaugural run with the underground had taken place in the small hours of the day. _Just when I thought I couldn't possibly respect the man more,_ the healer thought _, he starts talking about nobility of purpose and asks to come with me when I help mages out of the Void the Gallows has become._ Afraid to dwell too much on the other feelings Hawke's request had kindled, Anders dropped himself onto the bench by the crafting table and rested his head in his hands.

"We did good work. All around, we did good work," Hawke proclaimed, recalling his conversation with Aveline earlier in the week.

"Feels like it, too, right this minute," Anders decided, amazed to find he really did feel that way. _How is it that the gratitude of the whole of Darktown and the underground combined don't come half so close to lifting me up as much as Davin's support does? What does that even mean? What am I supposed to_ do _with that?_

"Also feels like I could sleep for the next fortnight, if the Maker is merciful. Which, of course, He isn't," Hawke added, as the clinic door was pushed open again, a man on a litter carried in by a group of … laborers, by their clothes. Placing the litter on the surgery table, all four of the men started talking at once, tripping over each other's words before one finally took charge.

"Jansen, isn't it? Foreman?" Hawke recognized the man he'd pulled out of the Bone Pit mine some weeks ago.

"Aye, ser. Linton here, he was lighting the fuse to blast on a new vein, only something weren't right and it blew before he could pull back his hand, and… and…"

Anders listened with half an ear while he surveyed the damage. Easy enough to see what _and_ was, mangled as the man's hand was even above the wrist. The blast had gone off before the man had pulled clear, and closer inspection confirmed his suspicions. "I'm sorry. This is beyond any healing; if we're going to close up the wound, it'll have to be at the expense of the hand."

The laborer, Linton, closed his eyes for a moment before giving a single nod. Anders glanced at Hawke, getting a nod there as well. The time had come to see if any of that research would pay off.

 _No need to ask what Linton's thinking, either. There goes his livelihood. Ah, well. Healing now, empathy later._

As Anders arranged tools on his surgery tray, Hawke ordered the remaining men, aside from Jansen, out of the clinic. "We'll need quiet for this. Jansen, we may have to call on you for assistance." On a second tray, Hawke set out a handful of lyrium draughts from the clinic's stores. "There won't be a lot of discussion as we work, but I'll ask you to place one of these bottles in whatever hand reaches out to you, if it comes to that."

"Aye, ser."

"Anders, are you ready for me?"

"Do it."

Still cautious, Hawke fitted a leather strap between Linton's teeth. In case something didn't work, the poor man would need something to bite against the pain. Satisfied that he'd done all he could, he placed his open hand on the patient's head, reached for his power, and sent the man to sleep. Instead of stopping the spell once the man stilled, however, he cut the flow to a trickle.

"Good. I can feel his… state… like this, with just this weak link. If he starts to wake, I should be able to adjust for that and keep him down. It's to you, now." Though Hawke had seen his share of amputations by now, the entire process never failed to unnerve him. Watching Anders clear away muscle and pull back skin, he understood it would be some time before he sat down to another meal.

In the end, only one of the draughts Hawke had retrieved remained. Anders had to maintain a steady flow of healing magic while he worked to prevent the loss of too much blood resulting from the new cuts, and to heal the bone at the site of the amputation. All this while performing the surgery as well was a draining prospect.

Unsurprisingly, the rest of Hawke's research proved valuable as well. With the advances Kinloch Hold had made in the school of Entropy, he had learned to direct the flow of dreams and nightmares, beyond simply causing them to happen. Or not to happen, as was needed when Linton lapsed into a violent nightmare that threatened Anders's concentration and finesse. With the link Hawke kept active, it was a simple matter to find the dream and just… turn it off.

"It's healed clean," Hawke announced after inspecting the remains of the surgery. "I don't see as there'll be any scarring, even. When you finished, I recast the complete spell, so he'll sleep for a time yet."

"Jansen," Anders called to the foreman, "does Linton have any family to be told?"

"Aye. I'll be about that now, if you've something I can tell them."

"Let them know where he is, that I want him to stay at least tonight so I can keep an eye on him. They're welcome to come and stay with him, if they like. If he's steady in the morning, I'll release him to go home."

"So…" the healer continued once the clinic was empty, save the magically sleeping amputee. "It worked. If it did heal clean, it's because you were able to keep him still. If we ever have any bloody energy to speak of again, I'm anxious to hear what was involved in all that."

They'd barely had time to wash the blood from their hands before a woman calling herself Linton's wife appeared, all tears and gratitude and praise, ready to celebrate the clinic, the healer, and even the results of the surgery itself.

But Hawke knew his friend. The patient would live, yes, but he was no longer whole. That he was beyond being fully restored before arriving in the clinic was immaterial; Anders couldn't put the man right, and living or not, would feel that he'd failed.

* * *

The patient settled, enchanted one last time into a restful sleep, his wife gone home, Anders let himself be guided to the small cot he kept for himself in one of the back rooms. He needed… something, he wasn't sure what, to wash clean the overwhelming sense of disappointment he carried now.

"Tell me something, Davin," he requested as he settled back against his pillow. "Anything. Something happy, a favorite memory from Ferelden maybe?" Just hearing his friend's voice would help, but hearing him happy? That sounded perfect.

For his part, Hawke thought for a moment as he took a seat on the edge of the cot beside the healer. _I should choose carefully, sure as I am this is the first time he's ever asked me for anything._

"In Lothering, shortly after my magic came, we learned that one of the sisters in the Chantry would entertain the children of the village each week, on the market day. All so parents could go about their errands with the visiting merchants without their children underfoot, I gather, Sister Dara would sit before an enraptured audience of Lothering's younglings and spin _such_ tales…

"It was only every third or fourth week we got to attend, mind, as far to the outskirts as we lived. And even then it took some time to convince Mother to let us go, what with having a couple of mages in the family. I remember Carver's winning argument in favor of storytime to this day: _'Please, Mother, I know Davin's a git, but even he's not daft enough to light someone's hair on fire right in the_ Chantry _. Please?'_

"I think the largest draw for Sister Dara's stories was that she always stayed away from Chantry parables. On market day, her only purpose was keeping the children occupied and happy for a time. I've lost most of the stories she told, but being a new young mageling myself when I heard it, there's one that stuck with me, or most of it did. And, in truth, still comes to mind now and again when I think of you.

"It was one of those 'once upon a time' affairs – you know nothing good can come of any fable that didn't happen 'once upon a time' and 'long ago,' after all. Well, this would have been long ago indeed, as it predated Andraste and the Chantry, and I can only imagine what trouble Sister Dara heard from the Revered Mother after this tale, for all that we children loved it.

"Seems there was a great old wizard who kept himself locked away in a grand tower, doing all manner of wizardy things, and going to great trouble to avoid contact with anything having to do with the civilized world. His apprentices did his shopping and stocking, and all the while he labored away in his chambers at the top of this magnificent tower. Princes and kings would beseech him for his counsel, nobility offered fortunes for any boon he might grant, though he turned them all away. Rumors of his favor, nonexistent though it was, were as powerful a political currency as marriages of state.

"Of course those rumors were countered with speculation that there was no such wizard, as in all the years he held his tower, not one person in the nobility had been granted an audience with the hermit. Proof of the wizard's presence, it was said, came in times of drought, and plague, and famine. When the least of the citizenry ailed, you see, that's when this wizard made himself known. When crops promised seasons too lean, he summoned the greatest of rains. When the grippe threatened to claim the beggar in the alley, he was there, tonic in hand. When the poor shepherdess raising her children fell to the blight, she was lifted again by his most powerful spell.

"For most of my childhood, I loved that story. Carver and Bethany as well, really. I think, more than anything else, that was one of the strongest bonds we shared as siblings. And now, though I've forgotten the name the sister gave the wizard… In my head, at least, when it comes to me now, I've found myself calling him Anders. Although," Hawke regarded his friend now, wryly, "I find you severely lacking in the areas of unkempt beard and wrinkles."

Anders found himself laughing around the hard knot that had formed in his throat. _Maker, that this man thinks me worthy of a story like that._ After a moment, he realized he was content, followed quickly with the understanding that he had never been before, not truly. Settling himself further down on the cot, he took Hawke's hand and held it for a moment, silent acknowledgement that he could sleep now, and sleep clean.

"Thank you, Davin. I liked it, very much. Except for one part," he found himself looking up at his friend… or whatever it was they were, something more complex and involved by now. "You're not a git."

Hawke's laugh as he stood to take his leave was rich and long. "Next time, you can tell me about one of your happier memories."

"Hmm?" The healer, sleep claiming him, waved a hand vaguely. "Take your choice, Davin. You've been there for most of them."


	10. Innocens : Merrill

"It's so kind of you to carry the market basket for me, Hawke. I really can manage on my own, but it's nice to have the company," Merrill conceded this as she tugged a length of twine away from the merchant's stall it had caught on during her travels.

"It's quite all right, Merrill. I was out to do some shopping of my own and just had to see how the… string theory was working for you."

"Some of the merchants have given me funny looks, but no one's really said anything about it. Elgar'nan, I can't believe anyone finds their way here without trees and shrubs and things to show the way." The slender elf continued to re-wind her loaned string into its ball as they followed it toward the alienage. "Oh! I meant to tell you, it was _so_ nice to see Carver and Fenris getting along while they pounded on skeletons together in the cave yesterday!"

 _Maker, it's like she's describing a couple of children in the nursery sharing their golem dolls nicely. Then again, she_ is _talking about Carver and Fenris…_ "Wasn't it? I gather they've taken to practicing together lately."

"I have to admit, before they started getting on so well I thought Carver was just nervous around elves. Did you know he speaks another language?"

"I'm… not sure I've ever heard him do, no…"

"Oh, he does it all the time when he comes to check on me. The _whole_ time while he was fixing that hole in my roof the other day he kept having to stop and tell me what he meant. See in the corner there, the hole's all patched up."

 _Must. Not. Laugh._ "I wasn't aware he visited that often."

"Oh! All the time! He's so kind. I wish I understood it, though. Isabela said she doesn't hear him speak it half so much anymore. I wonder why that is."

 _Subject. Change it. Now._ Helping Merrill stock away her purchases, he tried: "Are you sure you've enough food to hold you until your next market day? This doesn't seem like much."

"Oh, it doesn't take much to keep me, anyway. I bought more, once, but it just ended up spoiling. Everyone seems so worried about that. Isabela was just asking me at the Hanged Man last night whether I'm taking care of myself. I don't think she believed me when I said I was, since she insisted on giving me a vegetable to bring home."

 _Oh, Maker's glorified gonads._ Shaking now, sure he couldn't contain himself much longer, Hawke headed for the door, waving his goodbye, when Merrill spoke again.

"I can't really be certain, but I think it was some sort of tuber."


	11. Causa : Anders

The run had been a disaster. It was unlikely they would ever know when or where the escape had been found out; the leak could have been with the mage herself or one of the many messengers involved in smuggling messages between Gallows prisoners and the underground. Wherever it had broken down, Anders had come back to himself surrounded by half a dozen dead – and badly ended, at that – Templars.

It never failed to worry him that the first thing he noticed after Justice receded was always something inconsequential, his first thought being something thoroughly inappropriate to the situation. This morning, he had noted Hawke's wisp, bobbing in the air in a way that could only be described as _jaunty_ , as if it hadn't a care in the world.

Vying for second place in his rapidly-awakening thoughts were the bodies of the Templars and the fact that Hawke had simply helped him to his feet and moved on through the tunnels as if nothing out of the ordinary had happened. _Aside from me losing control to a spirit and raging around the cavern as an abomination, sure. Perfectly normal morning, even for him._

After each of these thoughts had passed through his mind several times in turn, another presented itself: _I've gone mad. Well and truly mad._ It was this alarming notion that occupied him during the long walk back to his clinic, after the mage had been set free with the admonishment to keep her destination to herself.

As soon as the clinic door clicked shut, Anders steeled himself to say the last thing in Thedas he wanted to say, knowing that it was the only thing he _could_ say _._

"Davin, you need to stay away from me. If this morning showed us anything, it's that… that I'll only end up risking you, or hurting you, or…" Deep breath. "You should go."

Hawke finished rolling the action of the morning out of his shoulders, dropped into his usual spot at the crafting table, and tilted his head as if considering for a moment. As he drew breath to speak he lifted a finger, as one would to illustrate a point, and said, simply, "No."

"Davin… You saw what happened to those Templars." _What_ I _did to those Templars._

"I _was_ there, yes. I distinctly recall _helping_ that happen to those Templars."

Anders could only stare at him.

"Give Justice a kick, see if he remembers it the same way. Or don't, now I come to think of it, because I'm not interested in talking with him right this minute. Try this, instead: take Justice out of the equation entirely. If it had been you, just you, confronted by armed Templars trying to stop that girl getting out of the Gallows, what would you have done?"

"I… I would have fought. But that's not the point-"

"That's _exactly_ the point. Anders, at the risk of making you think about it again, I'll remind you that you ran nearly full-stop into a number of Templars in a dark cave. I'm not at all surprised Justice took over to keep things moving. In fact, that's what I would have expected to happen under those circumstances. Doesn't mean your control is slipping, or that you're weak; all it means is that two very strong and negative aspects of your past hit you at the same time."

"Two… But I haven't…"

"Told me about the Templars, I know, and I don't expect you to until and unless you decide you want to pick through it all. You _have_ told me about the rest, and I assume as … acquainted … as the two of you are, Justice knows everything about the Templars?"

"Maker, that just sounds wrong, that he should know something you don't."

"It doesn't bother me. Really, it doesn't, because I know telling me about it will take you back there, and that's not something I'd ever wish on you for any twisted sense of my own gain." Hawke stood and crossed the room, judging that something more was needed to prove… _Prove what? My point? My resolution?_ _Either way, it'll give it some emphasis._ He embraced the healer and just stood with him, lowering his voice with the close contact.

"Justice may have gone overboard when he horned in this morning, I'll give you that. But… he's _Justice_ , and he found himself confronted with symbols of people who have done you a very great _in_ justice. In the end, the result is really no different than what it would have been if he'd stayed out of it. Freeing those mages is worth doing, and defending ourselves, to the death if we have to, isn't something we should be ashamed of."

 _That may be,_ Anders thought. _But it still doesn't address the cause._ Easing away from his friend, aware of any number of possible reactions to that cause, he said, "Davin. I'm an abomination."

"Ah. So that explains the tumorous outcroppings and deformities I see no sign of whatsoever."

"Will you _stop_ …"

"Stop… what, exactly? Refusing to believe you're a danger to yourself and everyone around you? That's not going to happen. All right, all right… You've known me long enough by now to be aware that the humor is the last bit of the battle high to settle down. Straight out, then: Anders, you are _not_ a monster. Quite the opposite, in fact – you give so much of yourself to help and to heal others that I'm surprised you have anything left at the end of the day."

"You're determined to win this, aren't you? How can you be, when you don't know how much I haven't told you?" _Close as I'm getting to asking why he puts up with me._

"I'm a bloody persistent bastard. You told me a while ago that you and Justice merged, that you're one entity now. Truth? I don't see it. Justice acts differently, talks differently – from what I've seen of the both of you now, I can even tell he _thinks_ differently. The separation is clear to me, and I'm sure I'd see it if one of you started bleeding into the other. "

"You're trusting me with a lot, thinking like that."

"No more than the other way around. I told you before, I'm not going anywhere."

Anders sighed, visibly deflating in the process. "Justice doesn't understand that, you know?"

"Why's that? Loyalty doesn't seem like it should be such a foreign concept to him."

"Loyalty, friendship, love, he doesn't get any of it."

"He's not human, and never has been. Maybe he needs to realize that, much as you gave up to bring him in, you're still human, and won't do him much good without all of that, hmm?" Cavalier as that answer might have been, Hawke filed it away for future use. _In case Justice needs to be calmed down again later._

"That sounds like something I would have said, not too long ago."

"So you needed a reminder. If it's necessary, I'll nag your ears off, but I'm not letting you go."


	12. Subjugo : Fenris

"I can't believe I'm seriously considering a foray into the Deep Roads with a blood mage, an abomination, and a man who, not long ago, arbitrarily decided to let a dozen mages just walk away." Fenris paced the length of the room he occupied in his former master's mansion, never pausing, never resting.

"Well, at least you're _seriously_ considering it," Hawke reclined in one of several chairs, feet propped on the table in a deliberate counterpoint to the elf's attitude. "Besides, unless I can manage to look scary enough, Bartrand may not let me bring _all_ my friends to play with."

"Yes, yes, make light. Considering what you are, you should have every reservation I do, and more."

" _What_ I am? Fenris, I'm hurt. Let me ask you something: how is random, senseless violence carried out by a mage any worse than what we see done by any of the garden variety thugs we cross paths with on an alarmingly regular basis?"

"Those _thugs_ aren't acting on the whims of a demon."

"End result's the same, though, isn't it? People are still dead."

"I… can't believe the abomination didn't throw that at me when he was griping about my talents."

"Likely because he understood trying to change your mind is pointless. As is asking why it's acceptable for him to heal you of any life-threatening injuries you pick up when clearly he just needs to be put down for his efforts. I don't believe I heard a _word_ about magisters while that gash in your back was mending." _Ooh. If looks could kill…_

"Then what _is_ your point?"

"I said the night you claimed this house that I expected no payment for helping you throw off the hunters who were after you. You owe me nothing, but you want to follow me into a hole in the ground where we'll spend at least a fortnight depending on each other for our lives. Why in _Thedas_ would you go along with that if you think I'm suddenly going to pop a few growths and try to devour you?"

Fenris gave no answer, so Hawke pressed on. "The sooner you realize that evil is evil, the better off you'll be. It makes no difference if the motivation is human or demon. More, any mage whose acquaintance I've kept for any longer a time than it'd take to kill them would prefer death over demons. Magic never held you captive, Fenris; it just happened to be at the command of the man who did. As for those mages I 'arbitrarily' released? Would you send a freed slave back to his master?"

Fenris had stopped pacing, but still made no move to respond. Hawke took this as his signal to leave. He paused at the door to give his terms.

"Come with us or don't, Fenris. You have the luxury of choice now, something few slaves or mages ever get. But if you can't look me in the eye and tell me my life is worth every bit as much as yours, I won't have you at my back."


	13. Nocte : Anders

Packs readied, plans debated, the house had fallen silent for everyone to try to sleep. The departure for the Deep Roads was set for late the following morning. After a time, Hawke slipped out the door as quietly as he could manage. As he walked through Lowtown, the sun dipped under the horizon, leaving the empty streets bathed in the pale glow of the windows above. Passing into the sewers, he offered a rare and silent prayer.

 _Whatever we find, let us come back alive._

Rounding the familiar corner in Darktown, he was satisfied to see the clinic's lanterns extinguished. He knew Anders had put out, as effectively as he could, that he would be out of residence for a short time. They both trusted Evelina to keep an eye on things while they were gone. When he stepped into the converted warehouse Anders had made home, he wasn't at all surprised to see the man standing by the window.

 _That's where he thinks._ A moment later: _I wonder how many are privileged to know that…_

Presently, he joined his friend at the window. He felt sure none of the others knew the significance the upcoming trip held for the healer, and knew just as well that speaking of it now would diminish his decision to see it through. Saying nothing, Hawke arranged an arm across his friend's shoulder and raised the familiar wisp with his free hand.

A smile broke through Anders's thoughts, and he let himself lean, just a little.


	14. Revelatio : Anders

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Welcome to the beginning of Act 2! In keeping with the pattern established in the previous Act, we pick up now after the completion of Anders's first companion quest. I hope all of the interaction between the central characters during my portrayal of Act 1 laid a solid foundation for how Hawke might have continued to nurture Anders into becoming more himself in the years between.  
> 
> 
> * * *

Hawke stirred enough to untangle the bedclothes where they'd gathered, freeing his feet and neck enough to roll over and take in the room. Though he half expected it to be the case, he found himself vaguely disappointed to find Anders no longer beside him. Instead, he found his friend – _lover I suppose, now, for all the injustice that word does to what we've become_ – seated at the desk, lost in thought, his expression betraying almost nothing of his mind.

 _Ah, but I've loved you far too long not to know how your every mood passes over that face._

"I can't say I was altogether sure what to expect of being your lover, but shouldn't we generally need to quarrel over something to stoke that kind of anger?"

Now Anders regained a bit of himself, if only for a moment. "For all you know, you hurled all manner of vile insults at me in your sleep."

"Couldn't be," Hawke rose, heedless of his bare feet and the stone floor, and crossed the room. Kneading the healer's shoulders through the robes the man had put back on, he went on, "I _did_ dream of you, but I was most decidedly not _insulting_ you during any of it."

Flushing with both pleasure and unease, Anders found himself unable to regain his thoughts for a moment. "Now you're just trying to distract me, standing there in nothing more than your small clothes and teasing at the knots in my shoulder."

"Trying very hard, yes. Is it working?"

"Davin…" Anders took a moment to put his finger on exactly why he was angry, and in doing so managed to multiply his rage. "What we did last night, it was…"

"Fun?"

"Well, yes, but…"

"Worth doing again?"

"That's not what I meant. It was dishonest, Davin, in the way I had to… Even if it was only of omission, a lie is still a lie, and this was your first… you deserved better." The healer stood, moving now to lean against the bedframe.

"I seem to remember enjoying myself rather a lot, but that isn't what you mean either. On your time, then, love; I'll hear whatever it is that's got you so angry with yourself."

 _Doesn't even know he just said it, or part of it. He knows me better than anyone has…_ "When we… you know… I've never had to…"

"It shouldn't be so difficult to discuss your pleasures with the one you're sharing them with, Anders."

 _There. Somewhere I can go._ "There hasn't generally been anyone left for me to discuss them with," he said quietly. "In the Circle, on the run, it was mostly quick fumbles that were never meant to mean anything, only ever having the illusion of privacy and never meant to last. This _is_ meant to last. Davin, you're the first person who has ever taken the time to care for me, to… to love me _before_ …"

"Before making love to you? This may be thoroughly inappropriate to the moment, but I can't tell you how happy I am not to hear any doubt in you at all over whether I _do_ love you."

Staggered, Anders blinked for a moment, rage cooling and settling into a familiar bitterness. "I still don't know how, or why, you waited all that time for me to figure out what we are."

"As if I had a choice. I think, in some part of me, I wanted us to be what we are from the first minute I walked into that clinic and watched you exhausting yourself to give a complete stranger another shot at living. Tell me, Anders. What did you … omit?"

"You want to know, do you?" Anders tore at the clasps on his robe, movements quick and furious. "You want to see what's scared away every man or woman who's ever represented to me the possibility of real love?" Before the feathers of his robe touched the floor, he was tearing off the shirt he wore beneath and throwing it to the corner, turning around to face the bed. "Here you are, then! Take a good look! This is what you took to your bed. This is what had me placing restrictions on something that should have been perfect for you. This is what has made me tell you from the day we met that you deserve better than me."

 _Maker's breath,_ Hawke cursed to himself. The man's back was riddled with such a latticework of scarring – thin lines and raised welts from years under the whip, curling around his side and over his shoulders. _He wasn't abused. He was bloody tortured. Small wonder most of the clothes stayed on._

Hawke pushed off the desk and stepped behind his love, placing his hands at the healer's waist and moving them slowly upwards. Touching, exploring, accepting, even as Anders shook with the effort of containing his relief. Only after passing his hands over every mark, every reminder of pains past, did Hawke circle the man's waist and rest his chin on a shoulder.

Speaking now, soft and low: "Anders, nothing has changed. I think I've always marveled at how, try as they might, no one in your past has managed to break you. The hope and resilience you carry will forever draw me to you. That isn't _what_ I took to my bed; it's _who_. I've watched you now for three years and more, as you found for yourself just who that is, who you are, and Anders… You're who I want. Last night _was_ perfect, love, because it was with you."

Hawke kissed his lover's cheek and maneuvered them around to sit at the foot of the bed. "Every day for three years I've seen more and more of who you are, as you came to believe that you can _be_ that person with me. The fact that you found yourself able to show me this without once questioning what we are together, that you did it out of a desire to see us last rather than fear that we wouldn't, well. All that says to me is that I don't deserve better. It tells me, Anders, that I couldn't ever _find_ better."

Now Hawke reached over and, with a finger on his chin, turned his lover's face kiss him fully. It was enough to sit, enjoying the companionship of a silent sunrise, while the healer's anger ebbed and he accepted Hawke's sentiment as fact.

"Maybe I realize by now that it hasn't been the scars themselves that put people off. Maybe I know it's been more the weight they carry in my mind that scares them away, but…" The healer sighed, putting away the pain and the anger that weren't really so much to bear anymore, anyway. "I'd never have seen that if it wasn't for you, if you hadn't given me all this time to realize that I want to accept the love you offer, more than just wanting you to offer it. And after everything that's passed between us, I can't imagine myself ever questioning what you feel for me."

"Good. I've known for some while now, and I think you have as well, that you waited as long as you did so you'd know you could give me what you think I should have. Much as I've been there for you, you were guarding me yourself, keeping that distance. In that way, Anders, you could say you've been giving me everything I should have all along."

Anders was surprised to find himself genuinely laughing at that. "Maker, love, only you could take three years of cowardice and hiding from what I felt and turn it into something noble. Not that I'm objecting, mind."

"Now that's behind us," Hawke reclined on the bed, hands behind his head. "It's still early, and you're half-dressed. I see a couple of choices, here. You can put the robe back on and we can find some busywork at the clinic, or you can shed the rest of that clothing and show me a bit of what I missed seeing last night."

Inspired, Anders stood and reached for Hawke's hand. Pulling him upright and holding him close, his voice reflecting limitless possibility, he suggested, "I think it might be more fun if you shed the rest of the clothing for me."


	15. Vicarius : Varric

Hawke judged that enough time – and ale – had passed that he could safely broach his next topic, for all that he expected the conversation to be brief. "Have you had word on how Bartrand is settling in?"

Varric gave his answer some extended thought, his face showing none of the things he considered saying, before settling on a response. "One more nut in a house full of 'em, Hawke. Doesn't talk much. One of the sisters offered to send me a letter if he says anything about the Deep Roads, but…"

"But. I can't say I mind keeping that business behind us, now, either. Life, going on, all that. Anders had a patient today who could probably benefit from some time in the sanitarium; would be, too, if he hadn't managed to shut her up and make her listen before she got on my _very_ last nerve. Just made me think of Bartrand."

"Speaking of… have you noticed Blondie's actually starting to look healthy lately? If I didn't know better I'd even say he was getting some regular exercise."

"Fishing for hints about how the little woman is taking care of him?"

"Me? Never, Hawke, but I am saving a fresh bottle of ink in case you're overcome with the urge to share. Just thinking how the walk from your fancy new estate to that clinic of his every day seems to be good for him."

"Oh. Then, good."

"Really," Varric regarded his friend over the rim of his mug. "I was starting to worry about him staying shut up in that pit of his all the time. He's even asking me for copies of my new guard serial, now. A little downtime never hurt anybody."

"I suppose there are worse vices." Hawke relaxed now. He'd heard the exchange between the dwarf and the healer on the way to the Wounded Coast earlier, and still hadn't decided which prospect to be more concerned over. Either Varric would come to _him_ for the details Anders hadn't wanted to give, or invent something out of whole cloth that managed to be both wildly fantastic and utterly believable.

"Suppose? Hawke, you wound me." Drinking again, Varric knew Hawke thought he was in the clear. "But, I guess you can be forgiven. After all, I do know now which one of you is the little woman."

"Maker," Hawke reached for his own mug with one hand while massaging his eyes with the other. "Haven't you got your hands full writing about the guardsman and the Knight-Captain without breaking off into the uplifted noble and the shantytown apostate? Maybe you should be interrogating Meredith."

"I tried. Those Templars have nothing but disdain for press credentials. And swords; they also have swords."


	16. Spiritus Daemones : Anders

Hawke paced the sitting room for what felt like the thousandth time, wondering if tonight would be the night Anders came home to him again. All the healer would say is that he had concerns, that he needed to be in the clinic in case… in case. _In case of what? The man's not a prophet, it's not as if he'll see the plague of locusts before we hear the bloody swarm…_

His mother had been no help for his mood either, asking first what Hawke had done to push the other mage away. _Nothing. Not a damned thing. Everything was fine until the man started making excuses a week ago._ As Leandra had gathered her things, preparing to spend the evening with her gaggle of society matrons, she'd suggested that everyone needs space, now and again, to sift through their thoughts. _Fine. Just perfect. And that leaves_ me _with all the space in the world to worry about him, knowing he's never been comfortable spending nights in the darkest corner one could possibly find down there._

On her way out the door, she had called out one last bit of advice, one that was only just now starting to sink in: "And once people have had that time alone with whatever they're thinking, help is usually welcome in confronting their demons."

Mother didn't know, but… _Demons. Spirits._

 _Justice._

* * *

Hawke arrived at the now-closed clinic in record time; if he hurried, and if the Maker was good, they'd be able to hash it all out and get Anders out of the sewers before the night settled in. He found his lover leaning against the wall, next to the window – _his thinking place_ – staring out at the water below. He paused then to catch his breath and set aside his body's reaction to the sight of the man _– later for that, Hawke –_ and found himself unsure whether Anders was even aware yet of his presence. A new worry blossomed in his chest, followed closely by outright fear over the possibility of someone hostile coming in during one of these reveries.

The healer wasn't as oblivious as he'd thought, though. Nerves over this kind of confrontation plain on his face, he offered, "It's Justice."

 _Well, that certainly blew the wind right out of my sails._ "I'd wondered. Just today. Just now, in fact."

Anders pushed away from the wall, crossing the room to sit, straddling the bench by the crafting table as was his habit. As he settled in, he felt a sudden desire – urge, even – to tell Hawke everything. Anything. _Why does it always seem to be here,_ just _here, that the words come so easily? First things first…_ "Don't blame yourself, Davin. I know I haven't liked to talk much about him with you. With anyone, really."

Understanding the familiar ritual, Hawke stepped further into the clinic, resting his staff against the table, and sat down behind his lover. It seemed as natural as breathing, reaching out to trace the comforting circle on the healer's back as he'd done so many times before. Having reassured himself that Anders was safe, Hawke was content to wait until the other man started to speak.

"Justice has been… asserting himself in certain areas, of late. He approves of the clinic, sees the free offering of aid as a fitting balance for whatever cosmic wrongs the poor have suffered. But he's no longer content with just that; he's grown impatient. He thinks we should be doing more to help the mages than furtive underground runs whenever they're possible. I even agree with him on that score, but neither one of us have come up with any ideas for what that _more_ should be.

"He's displeased about… about _us._ He thinks we'd be closer to having a plan, to some sort of large-scale solution to the whole thing if I wasn't distracted by… well, he calls it the pleasures of the flesh, but we both know he doesn't understand love and need and everything that goes with it. I've felt him stirring, now and again, just lately, and that's why I've come back here. I don't know what I'd do if he pushed hard enough, too hard for me to control, and something happened to you, or Leandra, or Bodahn, or… I'm just… not safe."

Hawke waited a moment, in case Anders had more to say, before drawing breath to speak. "At least this time I didn't hear you say I should stay away from you."

"I was… working up to that," the healer whispered, hanging his head. "Please don't tell me you live for the edge, or that danger is your life, or any of the other things you've said to me over the years. This is serious. I couldn't live with myself if he hurt you, not if I could have prevented it by leaving you alone."

"It's the _leaving me alone_ part that I mind, really. You need to remember your trust in me, your belief that I can handle things. Aside from that… Truth, Anders: have you, even once, had any trouble staying in control in all the time you've been in our home?"

"Well… no. I haven't. But I worry…"

"You're vigilant. That's _why_ you haven't had any trouble. I will tell you now that danger is my life. How often have I needed your professional services when we're traipsing around somewhere? But the fact is – another fact that Justice will never comprehend – you're my respite from the danger, you're what restores me when the threat has passed, and that's nothing to do with you being a healer. I know perfectly well that I'm the same for you."

"Ha. I said the same thing to Justice. I tried to argue, as you did years ago, that I'm human and won't be very effective as a host for him if basic human needs aren't met. He thinks I'm taking too much time for that, indulging selfishly while others suffer. 'Infirm of purpose,' I believe was the phrase he used."

Hawke's momentary pleasure at Anders's continued ability and desire to stand for himself was consumed again by anger. All the fury he'd felt, pacing in his estate, was back. He'd have to go carefully. "It sounds to me as if Justice is asking you to suppress more than just some of your basic human needs, like he'd have you forgetting to sleep again without someone there to remind you. I'm not hearing that Justice wants a host, anymore. That kind of unwillingness to share… space, I suppose… Whatever driving need he has to eliminate the human parts of you certainly doesn't sound very spiritual to me. It sounds more…"

Anders surged up from his seat, turning to face his love as he backed away, a warning in his eyes. But Hawke continued before he could speak.

"… Demonic."

Before the word was even fully out of his mouth, he saw the familiar crackling blue tapestry play across Anders's face, the very human light in his eyes replaced by an empty and smoldering fire.

Hawke had only a second to wonder whether he had deliberately baited the spirit, and think what it might mean for Anders if he had. _Well, that's for later. Right now, I've an angry spirit in the room. And it's time he and I had a few words…_

* * *

Deciding his play quickly, Hawke reclined against the crafting table, gathering his staff and resting it across his lap. _Just in case. Right._ "Hello, Justice. Been a while, hasn't it?"

The spirit's voice never failed to unnerve Hawke. It was Anders, filtered through the Fade and back again, resonating low, all over a stone-upon-stone quality that reminded him of nothing more than the echo of a closing sarcophagus in a deep mausoleum.

The spirit was, as he'd hoped, put off by his casual attitude. "You would provoke my presence in so foul a manner only to mock me?"

"That would depend, I'd say, on whether you're willing to listen to reason. If you truly are a spirit, if you _really_ are the embodiment of justice, you will hear me now."

"You bind my hand quite readily. Speak, then, if you are so eager to hear your logic destroyed."

"You know, my life would be so much easier if I could have fallen in love with a man possessed by a spirit of open-mindedness. But that's the point, isn't it? You haven't possessed him. You arranged with him to be… hosted. Possession is more on the order of something a demon would do, is it not?"

"Evidently you are aware of the difference, then."

"Evidently. Did any part of your arrangement include the loss of his humanity, other than as would occur naturally with the binding of yourself to him?" _Not sure 'naturally' is the right word, there, but I should really stop deliberately trying to piss off the powerful scary spirit…_

"Of course not. To expect him to sacrifice himself for my gain would have been-"

"Unjust," Hawke interrupted, receiving a curt nod from the spirit in reply. "That being the case, you _really_ need to hear a few things about the human condition. We are wholly different from spirits. Simpler in some ways, and much more complex in others. Sleep, love, companionship, all the things Anders has done since your joining that you haven't done more than puzzle over or nudge him to stop doing, are _human_. He requires all of those things to live in the _just_ way you seek for the remainder of the mages. If you deny him any of that, are you not denying him justice?"

Justice took a moment to consider this, and conceded the point. "Your understanding of the concept appears to be sufficient."

"I hate to be the one to say it to you, Justice," _because for all that I've told Anders I'm capable of handling him, I really don't want to find out tonight,_ "but the grand, sweeping justice you're looking for isn't going to happen quickly. I'm led to believe building up this clinic as a safeguard against capture was your idea. Anders has found ways outside the demands of the clinic to further your cause, but… there are only so many hours in a day, and it's both necessary and _just_ for him to spend some of those hours seeing to his humanity."

"You would speak to me of tactics? Perhaps you can suggest another solution, as my current host's time appears to be as precious as yours."

 _That was not a request for aid. No, it certainly wasn't._ "Thinking of upgrading? Don't. Anders has learned how to live with you; the next person you move in with might not be so lucky. I understand that time is an alien concept to you as well, but the simple fact is that it will take a lot of it to achieve the end you're after. We can't just snap our fingers and see justice done; the mortal world does not work that way, and at the risk of repeating myself, pushing Anders to destroying himself for a faster means to that end would be supremely unjust."

"I… will reflect on what you've said. And if I should decide that I disagree?"

"Then hear this," Hawke's face moved into a cold smile that was belied by the heat in his eyes, an expression that only a handful of people had ever seen and none had yet lived to describe. "Anders is mine as much as yours, perhaps more; he certainly has a stronger tie to the mortal world than to yours, even with you along for the ride. If you disagree, and that sentiment leads you to something so unjust as harming this man in any way to further your cause – and I do mean _any_ way – there is nowhere in this world or in the Fade that I will not go to settle with you for it. Reflect on _that_ as well."

The spirit's ire flashed across the healer's body briefly, and then settled. Without any warning, Justice was gone, and Hawke was left to spring up from his seat to catch Anders as he fell.

* * *

Anders surfaced slowly, the fog of unconsciousness giving way under a gentle request from the spirit within him. "Justice… Justice wants me to thank you for a… stimulating discussion. Maker's breath, did you _flirt_ with him?" _And_ there _would be the inappropriate observation that comes after I come back._

Hawke pressed one of the clinic's tin cups into his lover's hands, silently urging him to drink and clear out his dry throat. "You should know I only have eyes for you, love."

The water helped, and with a start, Anders pushed up from the cot he'd been carried to, frantically inspecting the other man for signs of injury. " _Damn_ it, Davin, you know what happens when he takes over. Are you… I didn't hurt you, did I?"

" _You_ have never hurt me. Justice didn't attack while he was out to play, either." Seeing the appreciation for the distinction in Anders's eyes, he continued, "how does he feel right now? Justice?"

"He's… not, well, _gone_ , but he's nowhere near as _there_ as he has been recently. What happened?"

Hawke recounted his conversation with the spirit, pausing here and there to make sure he got the details right. Anders deserved to know it all, given that it was his body that had been so brutally used.

"Why would you even do that in the first place? You had to know it would make him angry, perhaps angry enough to try to gain control."

"Honestly, I've been trying to figure that out myself, before you came around. I can't rightly tell you whether I baited him or whether I was just irritated enough with the situation to have forgotten my caution." Before the healer could ask the question he knew was forming, he went on, "Andraste's flaming knickers, Anders, I've hardly seen you in a week, and it's been at least that long since we had any real conversation."

They sat together then, the silence growing more comfortable with each passing minute, every breath closing the gap that had opened between them.

And then something occurred to Anders. "Hang on. That was my line."

"Hmm?"

"When you cursed just then, you said 'Andraste's flaming knickers.' That's my line."

"Maybe I missed hearing it."

Anders bristled for just a second. "I don't curse _that_ often."

"Point. Maybe I just missed you, then."

After a moment, they both rose, each anticipating _home_ , even if for different reasons.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter is a bit longer, as it deals with some of the personality shift we actually see in the game. Some subtle groundwork is being laid here for later, as well, as I have Plans™ (muahahaha) for post-game.


	17. Laevis Fratrem : Carver

"Mother isn't expected back for an hour or two, yet. Has Bodahn seen to your things?"

As his brother hadn't even looked up to acknowledge his greeting, Carver walked further into the sitting room to lean against the wall opposite. "Hello to you, too, Brother. Nice to hear you've so much more to say to me now than you did three years ago."

Hawke blew out a breath. "Are you not the least bit concerned about spending your leave in the home of a couple of apostates? You couldn't seem to get away from us fast enough when you decided at the last minute to break off from the Deep Roads group to join the Templars."

"I stayed for Mother, and you know it. For all the _connection_ you were pushing on me back then, you seem to have forgotten that Father found some Templars to be a decent sort."

Now Hawke looked up from the book he'd been trying to read, a theoretical study out of Tevinter on managing and breaking possessions without harm to their hosts – very interesting, and also very illegal. Making a mental note to write more to his cousin once she returned to Denerim, he set the book aside. "I'll apologize for that. It just hasn't been that long since the business with Alrik… came to light. I'd never associate any of it with you, but I've had a hard time just lately imagining that Sword of Mercy representing anything other than rape and torture."

The sick look on Carver's face showed he knew exactly what Alrik had been up to. If his brother's near-admission of involvement in killing the bastard had registered, he gave no sign of it. "I don't know why it's important to me that you believe it, Brother, but _please_ understand he was the exception. Most of us… well, I'll just say I was as surprised as you probably were to hear that Meredith hadn't gone along with the whole thing."

"Is it as bad as they say?"

"I… don't rightly know. My circle tends to be more involved in trying to… I don't know, make the mages feel as safe as they can. I hear rumors now and again, and I know of at least one other Templar who was trying to get Alrik expelled from the Order, but the Knight-Captain's only answer to anyone is to focus on duty and leave off the gossip."

 _How is it,_ Hawke thought _, that the most civilized conversation we've had in_ years _comes after he drew such a huge line in the sand and stomped on over to the other side?_ _And even still, I wouldn't be his brother if I didn't rib him a little…_ "Got a soft spot for the robes, have you?"

Carver stiffened for a moment before accepting the comment as it had been intended, lowering himself into a chair opposite his brother. _Can't really relax in heavy plate, but Maker, it's good to be off my feet._ "Not as soft a spot as I hear you've got. You said the home of a couple of apostates… Does that mean… Are you… And, um, him… Um…"

"I can't believe Mother wouldn't have told you in one of her letters. You have to know exactly what he and, um, I are doing." Hawke's mouth quirked at the obvious discomfort he was hearing. _Well, if he can't harp on me for being a mage…_

"I just mean you… Um, I remember hearing about that Peaches girl back in Lothering and I thought… Well."

"And you wouldn't have minded some peaches of your own, and it would never have occurred to you that I might end up plucking from a different tree, so to speak."

"I'm not being critical of it, I just… Look, just… here." Carver fished around in the satchel at his waist and came up with an envelope that he tossed unceremoniously at Hawke, turning then to look toward the fire, knowing his brother would be distracted while he recovered himself from his nervous fumbling.

Hawke's blood all but froze in his veins as he read the contents of the envelope. "One week hence, it says. When was this order given?"

"The contingent will be heading into Darktown two days from now. I… knew the clinic was in the patrol route, so I asked the Knight-Captain to excuse me from the duty. I made it sound as if Anders was an old acquaintance of mine, but that I'd had no idea he was a mage. Cullen knows about his connection to you, though – he put me on leave to _do my family duty_."

"Your family duty?"

"I don't have any idea what he meant. Maybe he thought ministering to you after Anders's capture was what I was supposed to be doing but… Brother, he never asked me to give up my copy of the marching orders, either."

"You think he sent you out on leave before the fact knowing this is what you'd do?"

"I couldn't begin to tell you. I was going to pass it on anyway, but hearing from you that Anders is… what he is to you, well… It made it easier to do."

"Carver, I…"

"Go. See him safe, Brother. I'm staying the week; we can finish the conversation later, when you're sure things will be quiet."

"Just… For now, thanks. Just thanks." With that, Hawke was out the door at a run, barely remembering to snatch up his staff on the way.


	18. Securitas : Anders

"I almost want to go-" Anders started.

"No."

"But it was three days ago that-"

"No."

"But no one's come here looking for me, so they must have-"

"No."

"You never let me have any fun."

Hawke grinned, certain his love knew he was doing it, even if he couldn't see it. He reclined against the headboard of the bed, legs extended so Anders could lean back against him. Idly tracing a pattern on the healer's chest with a finger, he thought, _I'm going soft, looking forward to just being_ close _like this as I do._ "I'm sure tripping over an unexpected Templar would be a grand old time, but Carver arranged to have drinks with Thrask tonight so he can get the word on whether the Order is finished with Darktown – and you – for a while. We'll have our answer soon enough. I don't want us taking any risks we don't have to take before then. _And_ I'm reasonably certain you just had rather a lot of fun; that's usually what happens when the clothes come off."

Anders blew out a breath, knowing wisdom – or mostly wisdom – when he heard it, and disliking it nonetheless. "I still can't believe… I mean, of all people to have told us I needed to make myself scarce for a bit, would you have expected it to come from Carver?"

Carver himself had inspected the clinic after they'd taken what steps they could to make it look abandoned. In his professional judgment – _if you could call Templars professionals_ – the herd of mage-hunters doing their sweep for apostates would take one look at the place and decide it had been left behind. This had involved tipping over cabinets, kicking up dust from the floor and coating it over everything, packing up books and supplies… By the end of it, Hawke was ready to sign up for a career in intrigue.

"It was a bit of a surprise at first, but with his namesake… He even mentioned that when he got here at the start of his leave, and he seems determined to do it right. Maker knows the Gallows needs all the level heads it can get. How's it been with Justice?"

Anders tensed at the mention of the name. He knew he wasn't being judged, he knew Hawke was only concerned for his welfare, but he had been increasingly uneasy talking about the spirit. After Hawke had threatened Justice, the healer was worried about what his interpretation of "any sort of harm" might be. "He's been… fine, really. I've had plenty of time to work on writing down arguments for the freedom of mages – mine and his – so he's been content with staying out of Darktown. And we ended up going on that run for the underground the other night, so we've really accomplished a lot even without the clinic."

That had been a sore spot for Hawke. Anders had eventually won the debate over whether to go – after all, if Darktown was being watched for apostates, it would have been the perfect time to spring a trap on an escape. In the end, they'd held to the reasoning that the Templars would likely consider an escape under that kind of scrutiny a risk the mages would never take, on the assumption that there had to be some Templars involved in helping mages get out. The fact that they'd pulled it off while the Templars were, so far as they knew, actively searching for Anders led Hawke to be more cautious about returning to the old sewers than he might otherwise have been.

"Nearly forgot," Letting the subject of Justice go, Hawke leaned just enough to open the drawer on the bedside table. "I have something for you, that I meant to give you before our little holiday ends."

"What's this?" Feeling the slender chain in his hand as Hawke handed him the gift, Anders thought it might be another bauble. He was still getting used to the weight of the Chantry amulet from Tevinter – both the physical and emotional weight of carrying such a gift. "It's… a key, threaded onto a chain."

"All the rage among apostates now, I hear."

Thoroughly confused, Anders craned his neck around to give his lover a puzzled look. "What-"

"When we _do_ go back to the clinic, we'll go out through the cellars. The key opens a door from one of the byways in Darktown into the lower levels of the estate here; it's not at all far from the clinic, so you'll be able to nip in quickly if you ever need to make a fast escape. I had forgotten about it until we had to think so hard about Templars running amok down there."

Anders leaned his head back onto Hawke's shoulder and sighed, somehow managing to convey gratitude, happiness, and love in a single wordless breath. He reflected, not for the first time – _and it certainly won't be the last, either –_ that he would never have imagined himself worthy of everything Hawke offered. "The way to a man's heart is through his basement, hmm?"

As they both laughed softly at the jest, a knock sounded on the door, which was then opened immediately. Carver pushed into the room, calling out even as Anders groped for a pillow to preserve his modesty, "I found out about the-" His words cut off, but the wind continued on its way out of his lungs anyway, leading to a stunned sort of prolonged squeak that seemed to go on forever. As soon as it stopped, Carver turned and left silently, gently pulling the door closed as he went.

After a moment, the shock passed, and Anders hung his head, chin against his chest, and groaned. "Please tell me your brother didn't just see me fully naked."

"Isn't there some cardinal rule about lying to your lover?"

"Perfect. Bloody perfect. Now we have to go downstairs and have a serious conversation with him about Templars and apostates, all while wondering if he's thinking about my anatomy and possibly what we might have been doing in here. I can't _believe_ we didn't lock the door."

"Just your anatomy, love. We're both naked as we're born and my arms are folded around your middle. I think he may have some idea what's been going on. In any event, it'll be fun watching him try to talk now."

"Not helping."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> One of the biggest "bwuh?" moments for me in this game is the timing on giving Anders the key to the estate cellars. Every time I see it happen, my mind translates the conversation to: "Oh, yes, I've been wildly in love with you for **three years** , and I know I told you I was concerned about Templars looking for you before you ever let me drag you to bed in the first place, but I'm **just now** giving you something that could mean the difference between life and death for you. Love you, honey."
> 
> This is probably the biggest liberty I'll take with canon as I write these in-between-times stories, because I just can't let that slide. I mean, really? Really?


	19. Impudens : Isabela

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A little love for the rogue class here. Also, since it's so very rogue-ish and seems right up Varric's alley… Am I the only one who's ever wondered if writing stories isn't just a clever way to conceal a sneakier talent?  
> 
> 
> * * *

"So tell me, Hawke: just what was it that had your brother looking at anything but you and Anders all evening?"

Hawke had been surprised when Carver had asked to join the group for the weekly evening of Wicked Grace the day after his meeting with Thrask. He had agreed without hesitation, though, noting over the last week as he had what a different person his brother was compared to the moody youth with whom he'd arrived in Kirkwall.

 _Of course the pirate would have noticed that. She's been trying to prod at my nerves again every chance she gets since she heard Anders moved into the estate._ "You're sure you're not just bothered that he paid more attention to his cards than he did to you?"

"Perish the thought. All that Chantry indoctrination has made him almost… decent," The way she said the word, it would have sounded at home among other such adjectives as flea-bitten, pox-ridden, unwashed or, perhaps, virginal. This _was_ Isabela, after all. "But, I suppose it was nice to see him after so much time, even if I've no idea what he meant, rambling on as he did about trees and peaches when I asked him what had him so twisted up."

Hawke's face arranged itself, unbidden, into a decidedly cat-after-the-canary expression at hearing this. "We'll just say he didn't believe the rumors about me and Anders until he took his leave to stay at the estate, shall we?"

Isabela – hardened pirate, ship's captain, scourge of the open seas – positively _squealed_ in delight. Eyes wide and pleading, she almost begged, " _Please_ tell me the boy got a second chance at finding out how a… Deep Roads expedition… might be… mounted…"

 _Maker's balls, I ought to know better than to encourage her by now._ "I do hate to disappoint you, but no. It was nothing quite so instructional. You're not getting fodder for your next _'friend-fiction'_ that easily."

"Blast." _That's what you get for leading with your best. If that didn't pull another squeak out of the man, nothing ever will…_ "Although I do think I'm owed after my last trip to the Gallows. Varric, too – _ooh_ , maybe we could write one together after you regale us with intimate details as reward for pulling one over on Mistress Mage-Hater. Even you'll have to admit, it was _glorious._ "

"The Gallows? Carver did say they'd called off the dogs, but he didn't say anything about the two of you being involved. Right, then, the drinks are on me and you can tell me all about it."

Isabela waited for the mugs to appear, then pushed off the bar and moved toward the stairs. They'd use her rented room for this; it wasn't the sort of thing that should be discussed in polite company. Or any kind of company, considering that Hawke was about as polite as it got in the Hanged Man.

"Now then," the pirate settled into one of the two chairs placed by the small, scarred table in her room. "We haven't discussed this with Carver in any amount of detail, but after he mentioned that the searches of Darktown had been taken off the rosters, Varric and I got to thinking. We decided we haven't had anywhere near as much of our kind of fun lately as we should have been having. Which brings me to another point, Hawke; you _really_ need to start finding work that doesn't involve day after day of wading in and smacking people soon as we meet them. There _is_ something to be said for finesse, you know."

"Maybe I'll tell you about finesse after you finish telling me about having your kind of fun," Hawke teased.

" _Ooh_ , I actually felt that shiver. Right, then. I'm not the storyteller Varric is, but I'll give it a go. We took a little stroll to the Gallows last night, after most of the metal boys were safely dreaming about… desire demons, or whatever it is that floats their boats. Some of those robes the mages wear can be _very_ suggestive." As Hawke, clad in his own robes, met her leer with a level gaze, she moved on as if she hadn't been looking for a reaction. "The few Templars up and guarding the corridors went down easy enough with a touch of the sleeping mix I usually keep for my daggers. I was _incredibly_ disappointed in the quality of the locks on Meredith's office door – worse than what you've got on that huge house of yours – and we were in almost before we knew it.

"That's when we got to work looking through the various documents she'd left about, digging up the reports from the Chantry Boy Brigade on their tour through Darktown. As it was, they'd said that – and I am genuinely sorry to hear this – one mage had made a confession of apostasy and asked to be taken to the Circle while they were there, but there were no signs of any others remaining in the sewers. Though it was suspected that Anders was a mage hiding out in the clinic, they reported it appeared to have been well abandoned to the scavengers – pat yourself on the back there – and anyone they spoke with denied Anders being a mage altogether.

"We found the papers, and from the way things were arranged it didn't look like she'd gone through most of it yet. It didn't take very long at all for Varric to… doctor certain details. I think he changed things around to give the impression that the population in Darktown is much lower than what it _actually_ is, and added some Chantry-appropriate religious claptrap about the firm belief that the sewer village is rather more permanently safe from dangerous abominations than the report originally said. I got a good look at it after – you know I've an eye for deception, and even _I_ couldn't tell what was in the report at the start and what Varric had fiddled with.

"However he did it, the end result is Darktown should be safe for a long while to come, and I'm now ready to hear all the lurid details about how the quiet and broody mage from the sewers keeps the attention of the adventurous and mighty Hawke."

The mage opened his mouth to fire off the smart rejoinder he was sure the pirate expected, but the words died in his throat. It was upon him, suddenly, that he needed to spend more time making sure _all_ of his friends were appreciated, and protected. None of the things Isabela and Varric had done would even have occurred to him, but they'd gotten done anyway. It was almost overwhelming to realize in an instant just how many other people had an interest in seeing him and those close to him safe. _First Carver, now all this…_

"Hawke," Isabela regarded him now, tentatively. "You're not about to be… _serious_ , are you? Because I don't know if I could handle that."

Hawke allowed a grin to play across his face, remembering that Isabela would much prefer to be known as his _fun_ friend, rather than a sneaky, silent protector. "Of course not, but I had you going there."

"Augh." Isabela rose, frustrated at losing another round – to all appearances, anyway – and stalked toward the door. "Back to the bar, you awful creature. You're buying me another drink for that."


	20. Onus : Anders

It had taken the best part of the day to put the clinic back to rights, standing furniture up and clearing away the dust they'd scattered over everything. Moving the books and other equipment back in had been the easy part, close as the cellar entrance to the estate was. By the time it was finished, Anders still hadn't said a word.

Hawke perched on the bench at the crafting table, in case the healer ended up needing one of _those_ conversations. Though he kept it to himself, he was relieved when Anders moved to stand by the window instead. "So, whose opinion is it that we should have been here? Yours or Justice's?"

"Does it matter? We _should_ have been here. _I_ should have been here. There's an entire family of refugee children, some of them young enough that Evelina is the only mother they remember, who have _no one_ to look out for them now."

"And if we'd been here, the only difference we'd have seen is that we'd be trapped in the Circle with her. Those aren't just empty words, Anders. You heard it from Walter yourself: Evelina sought them out. She could well have stayed hidden, just as successfully as she's always done. I've _heard_ you talking to her about what things are like in the Gallows. You can't blame yourself over her refusal to believe that the Circle isn't in a position to help her with those children."

Hawke could see in the way the healer's posture relaxed – _slumped, more like_ – that he was getting through, but he didn't remember ever hearing the man sound so exhausted. "I know. I know you're right, Davin, but that doesn't change the fact that she's no longer here to support them. Whether the cause is that she gave herself up, which we know happened, or that the bloody Templars are holding her captive, which is Justice's take, they still have no one. Walter's been standing in for Evelina quite a lot with the younger set lately, but he's not a man yet himself. There's no way he'll be able to care for them all on his own."

"Nobody said he has to do it on his own, did they?"

"Are you suggesting that we… what?"

 _We. He said "we."_ Pleasure welled in Hawke's chest beyond his ability to contain it, and in a few quick strides he was at the window beside Anders, pulling the healer into a half-hug and holding him there. _Finally, he didn't have to think to acknowledge the fact that we come as a set now._

"That's exactly what I'm suggesting. You've said yourself, several times, you don't like being away from the clinic after it closes for the day, in case there's trouble. Surely Walter and one or two of the other older children can be trusted to keep a key to our cellars and run to get us if something urgent comes in at night, yes? We've more than enough revenue from the estate and our own efforts by now that we should be able to pay them at least a living wage for their services, I'd think. Surely enough to keep them all fed and clothed in any case."

"That's… that's _brilliant!_ I only wish I'd thought of it sooner."

"Truth, Anders? So do I. I _knew_ that it's taken time for you to get used to the fact that what's mine is yours, so it really should have come to me sooner. If it had, Evelina wouldn't have had to think about approaching the Circle for help. At least this way the Coterie will still see the lot of them as being under my protection, anyway."

 _I'm still_ not _used to the fact that what's his is mine. Not as if I've done anything to earn it, which… I suppose that's monstrously unfair to_ us _, and he'd only tell me again that I was there for every step he took to earn what he has. Maker, what have I done to deserve there even being an_ us _to speak of?_ "No. I won't have that, Davin. You're saving close to a dozen children from starving and worse, so let's put the blame behind us and do what needs to be done."

"And what does Justice think of this plan? Sufficient to right the wrong that's been done?" Hawke couldn't shake the feeling that the… competition… he'd kicked off was far from over, but he'd yet to see any signs of the spirit's next move. It would be up to him, then, to stay one step ahead.

Anders shifted, still not at ease discussing Justice. "He's… pleased with it, and I get the sense he's equally pleased you asked. Not sure I feel the same about that."

"Shall we say I just wanted to make sure he wasn't out for Templar blood on top of everything, when Evelina chose to be found? Bah. Neither here nor there; we'd be doing what we can for the children regardless."

After the deal had been made and Walter had fetched the circumstantial family to give them the news, Hawke took in the sight of close to a dozen children who were now orphans twice over. _And this doesn't even scratch the surface. All these innocents who have barely gotten by for four bloody years and have been entirely forgotten by the world at large. Isabela was right; justice is an idea, one that has no place in any part of Thedas I've ever seen._

Hawke failed to understand the value of his money, or his reputation, or his connections, when none of that could do a damned thing against all the true suffering there was to be found. It was hard to contemplate the staggering amount there must be the world over when he had only to step through his cellar door to see too much. But right now, looking over a sea of youthful gratitude and hope, breathing in the warm regard of the man he loved, he thought the things he _could_ do might, eventually, feel like enough.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Another liberty taken with canon timeline, here. Seems odd to me that Evelina could exist in Darktown so close to the clinic for six years without once being acknowledged by Anders, which is how the game tells it. I addressed this a bit in the first chapter, and now again here. Nothing to do with the fact that it furthers my own plot, either. Riiiiight.


	21. Patrona : Aveline

Keeping himself as busy as he did, Hawke missed a number of opportunities to catch up with his friend in the city guard. She was every bit as overworked, so when he got the word that she was taking a day for paperwork, he made a point of heading to the Keep to see her.

"What's next, Hawke?" Aveline no longer bothered telling Hawke not to rest his feet on her desk when he took a visitor's chair. If _that_ corner on _that_ edge of the desk always seemed to be free of clutter, it didn't mean she'd given in to the mage and his habits. It just meant she was good enough at her work to keep the furniture from being buried. "Avenging Qunari delegates, saving a slum from poisonous gas, rousting a blood mage in Hightown, and now I find out you've adopted a small army of orphans in the sewers. If I blink am I going to hear you've turned the Hanged Man into a reputable establishment?"

"I'm Hawke, not the Maker, Aveline. Even _I_ can't fix the Hanged Man. And you left out 'playing matchmaker for the Captain of the Guard.'" Hawke winked at his friend when she rolled her eyes. "Not that I would fix the place, mind. You just can't play a proper hand of Wicked Grace without the stale-piss ambiance. And just how did you hear about the orphans, anyway? Last I heard, you don't have the numbers to get regular patrols into Darktown."

"You're right, I don't. I did, however, finally manage to squeeze some concessions out of Meredith in the interest of keeping the peace. I get a dispatch with the names of any mages they take within the city, along with whatever information those mages provide about dependents. Donnic went down to investigate the living arrangement after I saw a list of ten children needing care, and came back with stories about the nice healers who give them money."

"Anders, maybe. When have you ever heard anyone call _me_ nice?"

"The word has an entirely different meaning to an impoverished eight-year-old refugee, Hawke. I'm proud, that's all." Before either of them could fully acknowledge the sentiment, Aveline did her best to cover the moment. "I was… surprised, after hearing about the Templars' initiatives in Darktown that I didn't see Anders's name in one of those dispatches."

"We're careful, and I suspect your name carries more weight than you'd think. I know damned well the Templars have left me alone more because of my association with you than out of any consideration of my social standing. If Anders is mine, it wouldn't be that much of a leap to think they consider him yours by extension. Maybe you've got your own little mage-in-law, Mom."

Aveline snatched a pen from her desk and threw it at the mage, giving him the Look she always gave when she decided playtime was over. "My understanding was that they were only searching there so they could 'find' Anders to begin with. Now they've all but given up on Darktown. Do you think I'm going to buy flattery?"

 _I don't know, what's it going for these days?_ That _won't go over well._ Deciding on honesty, Hawke replied, "Do you really want to know?"

If it had been anyone else, the struggle between duty and _right_ that played across the captain's face would have been entertaining to watch. Fully aware which principle would win, Hawke felt his own burst of pride in the woman who'd stood by him, even when he'd had to do a number of seriously questionable things just to get by.

Giving Hawke the point with a nod, Aveline asked instead, "And what's this about plural healers? Far as I know there's only ever been one."

What Hawke didn't say, given his company, was that he'd been dragging his feet over how he wanted to improve his magic once he'd wrung the Entropy and Elemental rags dry. His interest had been caught by some of the research Gallows mages had done in the areas of Force magic, but he wasn't sure that's where he wanted to go. He'd been considering asking Anders to teach him some of the healing magics when, during one of their ever more frequent runs through the underground to pull a mage out of the Gallows, his love had been hurt almost beyond the ability to focus enough to heal himself.

That morning, after the blind and heart-stopping terror Hawke still couldn't find words to describe had ebbed, his decision had been made. In the weeks that followed, Hawke had devoted himself to the study of Spirit Healing. He was sure he'd never reach the level of skill Anders could claim, and in spite of his almost daily occupations in the clinic would never call himself a healer, but he would at least call himself competent.

If Aveline suspected there was more to the answer she eventually got – and, of course, she did – she was kind enough to hold her tongue. Maybe the mage insisted on running around in a glorified dress most days, and maybe he'd never in his life know which end of a sword to point outward, but she knew why they remained friends. Kindred spirits. Whatever else was going on, she could always recognize in others the calling to protect what mattered.

When Hawke finally pushed the memory back, he said, "Still is only one healer, most of the time. I'm what you'd call a plan B, but I have been working in the clinic long enough to have a solid grasp of doctoring and light surgery. I can hit that wound with a leech at ten paces by now." Laughing, the mage enjoyed watching that image form in Aveline's mind.


	22. Tumultus : Anders

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  **TRIGGERS AHEAD**. Flashback going on here, as well as some setup for what's to come. I've finally hit the point in the story where things can shift away from focus on canon events, and move more toward the buildup for the climax in the game and what I've got planned for beyond. Too damn many characters to cover. ;)  
> 
> 
> * * *

_He'd no idea again whether he was asleep. After a while, the feeling was almost commonplace, and he wondered how long it would be before his mind no longer commented when it arose. Whether waking or sleeping, restricted from the Fade as he was in this Maker-forsaken pit, the darkness never changed._

 _Except when it did. There was no telling – because he refused to ask, whenever the door opened and permitted some sliver of light from a torch he felt had to be_ miles _away – how close his year was to being finished. If he reacted in such a way to this punishment, he knew he'd be handing the bastards a victory they'd not soon let him forget. So he kept his silence and held his thoughts close. Occasionally, when he was able, he would send those thoughts far afield, wandering in his mind to one of the places he'd visited on any one of the trips he'd taken that made time spent in this dank and sickening hole worth every infinite moment. But this was only occasionally, as when his mind's eye closed and his thoughts came back in, the darkness pressed ever closer against them, a constant and increasing threat to stifle them beyond their returning._

 _And when that torchlight made its weak attempt to become known, no matter the time between, it took such_ effort _to quell the hope that rose, impossible as it was that such a thing could survive in the utter blackness that surrounded him. If he didn't hope, it made the light's eventual retreat, and the events between, somehow more bearable._

 _He no longer marked the passing clinks and clanks and thuds in the dark, knowing as he did that all Templars sounded alike as they moved through the corridor outside the personal Void his cell had become. When the torchlight flickered into his consciousness presently, it wasn't his ears that betrayed its purpose. After a time, a scent he recognized as clove asserted itself, that nauseating aroma that he only found here, and he knew he had little time to stop his entirely unbidden urge to retch and choke and cry out all at once._ This _one had made it known quite plainly just how encouraging that would be._

 _It wasn't a surprise that he hadn't remembered being lifted bodily, being turned toward the wall, his wrists fitted to the shackles hanging above the pitiful tray chained to the side of the cell and covered with a scratchy cloth and impossibly called a bed. The cloves had told him it would come, and it would always go so much faster if he could just_ go away _. He had long since given up counting the stings, claiming another empty victory as his own, as the leather bit into his skin, taking with it as it left more than just a measure of his flesh, time and again. When he couldn't be unaware, his teeth ground to a halt any sound that might escape, any cries or whimpers or the constant litany of_ Please Ser, No Ser, Don't Ser, Stop Ser _that revolved through his head, an unholy mantra to this benediction of pain, a counterpoint that told him every time it played that victory would never be his._

 _And still he'd no idea whether he slept._

* * *

Hawke paused in recording the events of the day in the journal on his desk when his lover had begun to whimper in his sleep. This wasn't an uncommon happening, and though Anders had explained that the odd nightmare was all part and parcel of being a Grey Warden, it took tremendous effort not to reach out with his power and disrupt whatever it was the man was seeing. As versed as he was in the latest research in that area, he and Anders didn't want to be the ones to find out how it would interfere with the taint the healer carried in his blood.

Hawke had to redouble that effort when those whimpers evolved into outright cries, when he knew it wasn't the darkspawn or the Deep Roads or the taint that troubled Anders now. He was sure he'd heard, "Please, Ser, Stop, Ser" and Maker knew what else, and they had also decided together that they didn't want to be the ones to find out whether disrupting a nightmare would damage the healer's connection to the Fade. But that didn't stop him helping in the rather more mundane, traditional manner.

Hand on his lover's shoulder, shaking at first slightly and then more insistently, he called Anders's name, silently willing him to wake, and was not at all concerned at the flailing and near-attack that took place when he finally did. When Anders's eyes calmed their incessant movement and he realized he'd been dreaming, he clutched at Hawke, a wordless beggar desperately seeking the only comfort he knew.

After a time, his voice still pitched and strained, he implored, "Please don't make me tell you."

And if Anders felt treacherous for making the request, concealing as he did the impulses the dream had prompted within him, his lover would never know. He remembered hearing that Hawke might be inclined to see a certain distance as the healer's means of protecting the man, and riding on a wave of warm affection and bitter regret came the certainty that his love would never ask more of him than he was willing to give.

He allowed himself to be held, to be soothed. And tonight, he realized he hadn't really changed so much. He remembered what it was to despise himself.


	23. Sincerus : Merrill

"I almost feel guilty after everyone made me keep all that coin," Merrill chirped. Having accepted Hawke's offer to walk her home, Lowtown being as unpleasant as it was after the sun had set, she of all people _would_ be honor-bound to say something.

"It's not so very much coin, Merrill, and you earned it. You should be at least as proud as Isabela is – it's nigh on impossible to bluff _her_ , and she was so delighted you'd done it there's no way she meant for it to happen."

"Well, she did stop smirking after she dealt, so I knew she had something good, even if I don't know whether she gave it to herself on purpose. I guess she must not have, though, if she didn't know I was bluffing. I still wish I knew what she meant when she said not to give away her tells, though."

They entered the slums in companionable silence, Hawke torn between laughing right out loud and explaining to Merrill why he'd be folding in future when the pirate stopped looking amused. Then again, the walk to the alienage wasn't _that_ long.

"Don't you think it was dishonest, though?" Merrill went on, taking almost no notice of the thug she sent to sleep as they passed, before he had a chance to actually _use_ the shiv he'd withdrawn from his pocket. Or say anything about using it.

Now Hawke did laugh, in equal parts at her complete lack of regard for what could have been a nasty threat and her conflict over the concept of gambling. "That's what bluffing _is_ , Merrill. The point is to grab at coin every now and again by making everyone else think you've got a strong enough hand to win."

"Oh! But doesn't it seem strange to you that we're all friends, after we've sat down and lied to each other every week for years and years?"

"If we didn't want to be lied to, we certainly wouldn't be playing Wicked Grace."

Rounding the corner toward the alienage, Hawke began to suspect that Merrill would forever be safe practicing blood magic as she did, if only because she wouldn't understand the terms of any demon's offer long enough to agree to them. He smiled to himself at the thought of a demon throwing whatever passed for its hands up and giving the elf what she wanted in exchange for its own escape to find another vessel to the mortal world. _Any_ other vessel. Entertained as he was by the image, he almost missed Merrill picking up the conversation again.

"Is Anders all right, then?"

"Hmm? How do you mean?" Now Hawke turned his head to look at the elf as she spoke. _One part perception, one part oblivion. Mix well, and you've got Merrill, and you'll never again know which part you're looking at._

"He's just seemed so tired, lately. Justice isn't making him miss out on any sleep, is he? I told him last time we talked he needed to watch out for that. Spirits can be such bullies, sometimes."

It wasn't Justice keeping Anders from sleeping well, though the healer wouldn't thank Hawke for saying so to Merrill. "No, it's just the amount of work there is to be done," he evaded.

"As long as he's got someone watching out for him, then. Thank you for walking me home, Hawke. Although I must admit it wasn't a very _exciting_ walk this time."

That last was added with such a tone of disappointment, Hawke couldn't help but grin in spite of his growing concern for Anders. "Maybe we'll see someone getting shanked next time, Merrill."

Bidding his friend good night, he left for Hightown. He hoped he'd be home before Anders dropped from exhaustion, sure as he was that his love wouldn't be sleeping clean.


	24. Cura Te : Anders

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  **TRIGGERS AHEAD**. Heavier this time, including a recounting of non-consensual sexual contact, after the second bar in the story. It's not explicit, but neither is it very vague. And Holy Jesus, it was hard to write.
> 
> This chapter also contains, before the triggering content, some rather explicit – and healthy – sex.
> 
> As a side note, the chapter title is an adaptation (Google-ized, as I don't have a whole lot of Latin) of the old phrase, "healer, heal thyself."  
> 
> 
> * * *

Having exchanged pleasantries with Bodahn and Orana, the newest addition to the household, Hawke decided he was well tired out himself. He hadn't been untruthful with Merrill; the clinic _had_ been very busy in recent days, any sort of restorative for the good doctors themselves hard to come by. As he crested the stairs, he recalled Orana mentioning that Anders had asked for a bath to be drawn – _sure sign of his exhaustion there, much as he hates to be served_ – and wondered if he'd find the man asleep in the chamber's tub again.

 _Could have saved myself the trouble learning all that healing. I swear, he's determined to meet the Maker through accidental drowning._ Alarmed, Hawke hastened his steps when he heard Anders's muffled _"No!"_ through the closed bedroom door.

If nothing else, he'd want a bath himself, so he locked the door after stepping into the small hallway at the entry to the chamber. Ahead, he found Anders bolt upright on the bed, the sheets pooled at his waist. He'd seen panic enough by now to recognize it in the healer, and in a few quick strides Hawke was seated almost in the man's lap in his haste to give him something to hold on to.

"I'm here," Hawke soothed. "Whatever you need."

* * *

As Anders's fear stilled, his mind attempted to resurrect the nightmare that had eventually shocked him into his waking panic. He pushed it aside, focusing instead on the man who held him, and was immediately rewarded with a memory of their first night together. Not the act itself, but the realization that the expressions of the love the two had shared had done more to quiet his memories of the long months in a Circle prison than time or distance had ever managed.

He felt his body respond to the knowledge and comfort of more recent memory, and knew it was _right_. Pulling away just a little, he captured Hawke's mouth in a kiss, long and seeking. When he broke the contact and reached for the clasps of his lover's robe, he said, "You. I need _you._ "

Robe discarded, Hawke laid back on the bed, lifting his hips briefly to allow Anders to pull away the trousers and small clothes he still wore. As rarely as Anders initiated this kind of contact, he was content to allow the healer to take whatever pleasure he wanted, whatever comfort he needed.

Slowly, delicately, Anders found his way up and onto the bed, teasing and kissing a trail from the other man's waist to his neck, retreating an inch for every two he gained, until he found his lover's lips again. It was relief and bliss and _right_ to feel them both becoming fully erect, moving slowly against each other, swallowing sighs and gentle sounds of pleasure until Anders broke away and shifted down.

Recognizing the touch as the healer's hands trailed a path down his chest, Hawke remembered as well their first night, and understood now what Anders was asking for. _And, Maker, I wasn't kidding when I said it was worth repeating._ He gasped and let his head fall back as Anders's softly wandering hand found his arousal, letting go an involuntary moan as the healer arched down and met his shoulders, his chest, with lips and teasing teeth.

Presently he felt Anders begin to move against his thigh, and he could no longer be still against the hand that held him. Almost unbidden, he began to thrust, keeping rhythm with his lover's even stroking and the easy motion of the hard length against his leg. Almost desperate for a distraction, he found his arms surrounding the blond man, his hands alternately grasping and caressing, mindlessly accepting the maze of marks he encountered as the man responded to his touch.

"Let me?" Hawke asked after a time, his breath quickening with the continued contact. In silent answer, Anders moved up again, almost torturously slow. Anders shivered, almost violently, as the other mage's hand found him, and began thrusting himself, increasing the pace of his own movements to encourage the same from his partner.

Shortly, unable to stand more, Hawke shuddered and moaned, deep and satisfied, allowing himself to spill onto his stomach, never stopping the rhythm he kept up for the healer.

The sight of Hawke's pleasure, the rush of knowing he'd brought the man, pushed Anders to the edge and over. His cry was equal parts pleasure and wracking sob as his essence mixed with his lover's. Letting himself collapse beside the other man, he marveled anew at the peace Hawke was capable of bringing.

* * *

Not wanting to leave Anders for long, Hawke hurried to the basin by the tub and quickly wet a couple of rags from the pitcher kept there. Leaving his own at the basin after a quick wash, he carried the other back to the bed and handed it to the healer before stretching out at his side. He had so many questions, but knew better than to ask any of them, choosing instead to reach out and toy absently with the blond hair that hadn't yet been pulled back into its customary clipped tail.

After all the restless nights, he was no little bit surprised when Anders drew breath to speak.

"I told you before that I was confined for a year after my last escape attempt, didn't I?"

"You did. I…" _Got the sense there was something else you started to tell me then before you changed direction._ "…remember thinking then that I was grateful to Father for keeping us out of the Circle, after hearing about that."

Now Anders shifted, rolling over to face his confidant, his lover, his… The man was so many things to him, and as he reached for the calm that only this man could bring, he found himself falling for Hawke all over again at the thought that he'd never be able to tell him everything he represented, and the realization he'd never have to because somehow, the man already knew. Settled, or more so, anyway, he continued.

"You've seen the scars, so you'd know that I had… visitors… whenever I was locked away. I've often wondered if they didn't use those cells to try to teach us what 'real' prisons were, to make us see being locked up in the tower as some kind of false freedom." His voice had taken on a hard edge, bitterness and anger, that made the rest somehow easier to speak aloud. "Most often it was the whip, or the strap, or the cane. But there was a Templar…

"I could always smell him before I saw him. For whatever reason, the man chewed cloves like candy whenever he was on prison duty. Try though I did, I could never pick up the scent anywhere outside that cell, so I was never able to put a name to him. Always spoke low in his throat, not quite whispering, but not at all recognizable.

"Anyway. Every fortnight – or so I'm guessing, as I _would_ not ask those bastards the time – they'd bring in a tin tub filled with ice-cold water for bathing. Declining the privilege just meant extra time in the dark, so there wasn't any choice there. _This_ Templar… He made sure I knew how displeased he was that I wouldn't give him the satisfaction of screaming for the whip. Bloody sadist that he was, I think he took equal pleasure from maneuvering me into the damn shackles on the wall as from beating on me.

"On some of the bathing days, not all, but some, he would tell me he'd decided he wasn't in the mood to see my stoic resolve and it was time he got a reaction out of me. He would…"

Anders trailed off for a moment and, unable to contain it, lurched out of bed to grab an empty chamber pot and sick up the memory and the damned taste of cloves that had found his tongue even now. Just as quickly, Hawke joined him to gather up his hair and keep it out of the way, and as had been their routine put his hand to the healer's back. This time as he traced the calming circle, he flared just enough of his healing magic to calm the man's stomach as well.

After the resultant retching had stopped and Anders had caught his breath, Hawke went to retrieve a bottle of liquor from the cabinet. The healer took it to the basin and used it to clear the taste of vomit from his mouth, unbelievably grateful to the man and to the Maker when he found it overpowered the haunting flavor of cloves as well.

Turning away from the basin, he offered, "Sorry. I..."

"Don't _ever_ apologize for that to me," Hawke's whisper was louder and more forceful than he'd intended. He let out the breath he'd only half known he was holding as he moved the pot away from the bed and went on, "I was about tempted to join you in the sicking up. You don't have to tell me the rest."

"I think I need to." Anders waited until Hawke nodded before he moved back to the bed, sighing when the other mage read his intent and moved back with him. _Something to hold on to…_ "On those days, this Templar would… he'd never have me face him, he was always behind, and he would reach through and… b-bring me. I still never gave any indication he'd had an effect, not until I was sure he was long gone. By then I'd been a healer long enough to know that the body would do what it would do, but it still managed to shatter me every time. Even knowing what it was, it was happening to _me_ and it was years before I could look on any of it clinically.

"And then, if the bastard managed to time it so he got to me after the bath was removed from the cell, he would… Only once or twice, but I don't have to think too hard about it to _hear_ his awful breathing behind me and _feel_ his issue on my back, when he knew I wouldn't have any immediate way to wash it clean. Now, today, what makes me so bloody _angry_ about it all is that other Templars, or one of them, used to bring round extra cloth or just a bucket of water. They bloody _knew_ what he was up to, and nobody did a damned thing to stop it.

"This evening, I suppose, I was tired enough when I asked Orana to draw the bath, that _having_ a bath drawn for me set me off. Ever since that year, I've always seen to it myself, even in those last months at the Circle before I was finally free. It just…" Anders lapsed into silence, closing his eyes, needing to just _be_ for a moment.

"And still," Hawke breathed, "you never gave them a reaction. It seems… I don't know, it seems selfish, but Anders, I have to know. Have I ever done anything-"

" _No_ , and I don't think you can, either, so you can stop worrying about hurting me before you even start. You give me nothing but love, Davin, and pleasure. Never fear, and never pain." The healer watched his lover intently, watching that fact register. "After our first night, what got me settled on being angry about the whole business was me realizing what you give me, and that being with you takes all the rest of that away. That was why I… asked for what I did, tonight."

"All right. All right. Thanks for that."

"It's just what is. Huh… Justice isn't happy that I told you any of this."

" _What?_ Why?" Incensed, Hawke let that tidbit roll around in his thoughts for a bit while waiting for more.

"He thinks it's unfair to burden you with it. But," Anders added, in a way that made clear he wasn't addressing Hawke, "it's _human_. So piss off."

Hawke was laughing even before he realized he'd forgotten his worry about the spirit's motivations. The healer settled back into his embrace, driving away any further thought of spirits or manipulations or worry, and sleep claimed them both in equal time.

In the morning, they'd both be grateful to remember no dreams.


	25. Libertas : Fenris

_Whatever else you can say about the man, he certainly doesn't waste any words…_ Hawke couldn't decide whether to take it for good or ill that Fenris hadn't said a word since opening the door to his master's mansion and letting him in out of the rain. Climbing the stairs, he wondered if the elf had set foot in any of the rest of the estate since they'd cleared out the magister's traps years ago.

Without waiting for an invitation, Hawke lowered himself onto one of the low stools by the fire, stretching his legs and hoping his boots would be dry before he left for home. _An exercise in futility, knowing I'm just going to sink hip-deep in every blasted puddle on the way back home. Ah, well, at least the elf in_ my _estate gets a thrill out of seeing magic used for comfort._

Still silent, Fenris sat on the bench opposite the mage and waited him out. He'd been thinking, just lately, that he should seek Hawke out, having left things off poorly weeks ago. He'd had plenty of time for thinking since Hadriana, and more time still to curse the incessant nagging in his mind that reminded him just how many mages hadn't hesitated to abandon their plans and confront the magister. Though he might never admit it directly, he found himself conflicted over the abomination and the blood mage; living representations of the worst Tevinter horrors though they might be, he owed them his continued freedom. And for all that, his experience of them since arriving in Kirkwall had him questioning just how different they were from the man in front of him.

 _Well, that's about enough being brooded at for me for an evening…_ Realizing it was up to him, Hawke couldn't resist. " _Hello, Hawke, welcome to my home. Please, be comfortable._ Why thank you, Fenris! I think my boots may dry themselves even before our convivial greeting is concluded!"

Fenris felt his lips turning up before he could think to stop them. "If that is the conversation you seek, you could just as easily have had it in your own sitting room."

"Yes, but even with his best efforts, Bodahn just can't give me any solid disapproval. Best he can do is look slightly vexed when I ask."

Now the elf laughed, determined to confound the man similarly, even if he couldn't recall appearing vexed at any time in his life. "I am never going to know whether you truly _did_ ask him, am I? As you wish, then. What brings you here?"

"Haven't seen you at the Hanged Man lately."

"And you are concerned that I have isolated myself in this dark and dreary mansion, never again to see the light of day?" Fenris's lips quirked again.

"Maker, no. That's Varric's job. I've… been thinking, though, and I don't think I've given you a completely fair turn. Since I'd half a mind to ask you for a favor, it's best to be out with this first." Hawke drew a breath, as if bracing himself. "Recent events – you'll thank me for keeping the details to myself – have made me more aware than I'd like to be that it's entirely possible to look at someone who represents a certain class of people and apply that experience to the rest of that group by association. It made me think of your… caution… where mages are concerned.

"When I considered it, I remembered you telling me that you've no memory prior to the markings, and I had to realize that your only personal experience with my kind prior to meeting me had been Hadriana and Danarius, and those of their ilk. Knowing that, it's a wonder you've had anything to do with those of us you've met here. I know my argument in the past has been that not all mages are the same, and that you should give us a chance, but… isn't that what you've _been_ doing, coming to the Hanged Man and lending us your blade as you have over the years?"

When Hawke fell silent, Fenris rose, wondering how best to respond. While he thought about the parts of his internal argument the mage had just made for him, he crossed the room to pour out wine for his guest. Glasses in hand, he returned to his seat at the fire.

Intent on the swirling crimson in his hand, he said, "It seems we have both had things to ponder. I had… resolved myself, not long ago, to the truth of what you had to say some years ago – evil being evil. It seems there is much that I do not understand. Plainly, I have been preoccupied with the notion that the evils I've seen may not have been motivated by demons, and I have found myself questioning the motivation behind Danarius's actions."

"Would you care for my opinion on the matter?"

"Please."

"He's a prick."

Fenris had expected something windy and profound, and as a result was now choking on the wine he'd started to savor. _Wonders never cease._

Hawke continued, grin fading as he spoke. "Well, he is. It takes a certain kind of person to seek out demons, Fenris. You know the man arguably better than people he'd call his compatriots, and going on the things you've said I just don't see a demon prompting the man to anything he's done. He's a bad sort, and because he is, he had no qualms about trading a bit of the soul he doesn't have to augment his power. And before you speak, I know I say this in the face of my friendship with Merrill. The bad and the desperate, Fenris, those are your blood mages. Merrill isn't evil, and I just don't see Danarius being desperate."

"Nor are mages the only ones susceptible to desperation," the elf spoke quietly.

"And nor has Merrill ever harmed anyone. You've known her as long as I have. Can you see her agreeing to the terms of any deal a demon would offer if they include subjugating or torturing others?"

"That has been a large source of… discontent, for me, though I have worried over the effect it will have on others if she has agreed to become possessed at any time. In the years of our acquaintance, were she anything like the magisters of my experience, she would have wrested any power she could from the Fade many times over by now, but she remains unchanged. I cannot promise to go directly from this conversation to the alienage intent on befriending her, but you have given me much to reflect upon. At the risk of damaging this newfound… understanding… we've reached, I would ask you of Anders."

"What of him?" _Huh. He actually used the man's name._

"He seems largely unchanged as well, for all that he appears to be more comfortable within his own skin. It is the spirit that troubles me; have you noticed that it has become increasingly… insistent, at all?"

"I can't tell you I haven't, much as I'd like to. What I can tell you is that Anders is aware of it as well, and continues to maintain control."

"I… will trust that you have the right of it. You mentioned asking a favor of me?"

Hawke sipped his wine, wondering if he'd given the elf too much to think about already. _No help for it. Ah, well, in for a copper, in for a sovereign._ "I did. It's to do with Orana."

Fenris's eyebrows rose. "The girl you employed? What assistance could I possibly give you with her?"

"She's still a slave, Fenris." _And so were you, until just recently; maybe you'll get more out of this favor than I thought._ "She spends her rest days cleaning and hovering over Bodahn to learn cooking. I've tried convincing her she should see some of the city – Hightown, anyway – or find a hobby or… something, anything other than living in constant servitude. She won't do it, and acts like I'm offering her a trap of some kind when I encourage her to have a life of her own. She seems to be hideously uncomfortable when Bodahn engages me in conversation, as if she just can't ever see that being her place. I wondered if you might speak with her, see if you can figure out what will do the trick."

Fenris had to ask himself, now, if his escape would have been any easier if someone had been there to define freedom for him. _No, it wouldn't have been, because my master still lives. Putting someone else at that kind of risk would have been unacceptable. Still…_ "Perhaps introducing her to one of your neighbors' servants might be more productive in this area?"

"The neighbors who think I should still _be_ a servant, rather than employing one? Although asking them about it might be fun for a lark, I'll give you that. More, though, she's used to seeing you around the estate. She knows I trust you, which I think might allow for a more… natural approach."

The elf looked perilously close to laughing again. "A request for subtlety? From the man who so recently stood on a hill outside the slavers' den and, on spotting reinforcements below, asked me to _'ghost down there and pummel those twats before they see us up here_?'"

Hawke lifted a hand and pinched the bridge of his nose. "Please don't tell my mother I said that."

The moment struck Fenris as so… normal, he supposed. He was surprised to find that he considered the man as… a man, and wondered when his first thought of Hawke had stopped being _mage_. "Very well, then. I will call on you, the next time I know you will be out."

"Sneaky. I like it." Grinning again, Hawke stood to take his leave.

The elf rolled his eyes upward to look at the mage. "We can discuss the payment for my continued silence in the presence of Leandra at another time."

"If you're coming to Wicked Grace this week, you're not allowed to talk to Isabela."


	26. Familiae : Anders

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Another short-and-sweet end to an act, leaving Act 2 with Hawke named Champion. After putting Anders through absolute hell, this chapter was a joy to write.

Hawke sat at his writing desk in the fire-lit parlor, stretching out his legs before removing his boots. Having heard him come in, Anders moved to lean in the doorway to the sitting room, where he'd been occupied with writing.

"How did it go?" The healer asked, tentatively. "I truly am sorry to have missed it."

"Wasn't that big a deal to begin with, aside from the length of the speeches. You were there after the fact, anyway, briefly. And in any event, I meant it when I agreed with you that standing on a dais next to Her Imperial Rabidness, the Knight-Commander, wouldn't have been a good idea. Then, anyway." Boots off, Hawke stayed bent down to massage his calves. Looking up, he caught a ghost of a smile on the blond man's face. "What? Have I got something in my teeth?"

"No, I…" Anders's smile spread, as he thought of Hawke's recent comment on how his mother would have liked to be remembered. "I just remembered the last time I stood here, talking to you at that desk. You had your boots in your hand then as well, giving them a little bit of extra heat to dry them out with your magic, and you were listening so intently to whatever it was I had to say… Seeing you there again gave me such a vivid image of the look on Leandra's face when you overcooked them and they caught fire."

Hawke stilled, his own mouth turning up slowly. It would be a day for family, then. Rising, he took the healer by the hand to pull him upstairs so they could continue talking while he changed out of his finery. "As I recall, you shook your head and retreated back into the sitting room before she asked me why it had to be my _nice_ boots I decided to flambé. You missed a stirring lecture on the importance of taking care of what's ours."

"Ha!" Anders closed the bedroom door and locked it. After hours of pomp and ceremony, he favored his chances with the new Champion of Kirkwall. "What did you mean, saying I was there after the event?"

Leaving the finery on the floor, Hawke decided dressing again could wait. After hours shut up in the sitting room with his quill and parchment, he favored his chances with the Savior of Darktown. "More taking care of what's mine, if you take my meaning. Meredith drew me aside to ask if I thought her an imbecile, what with the clinic having reopened so shortly after it was abandoned, leaving me to infer that she knows you're still there."

Anders forced himself to think past the momentary terror that rose in his chest. "She had to be making a power play with you. Asserting her dominance?"

"That was my take, yes. So I outplayed her. Told her that, no, I don't think she's an imbecile. I couldn't do, because then I wouldn't trust her to understand what would happen to the fragile image she's already got in this city if she became known as the person who took away the only remaining family the Champion of Kirkwall has."

Anders moved into Hawke's arms, preferring to let the gesture speak his feelings for him. _Nothing at all to do with the fact that my eyes are watering at hearing him say I'm his family. Dry it up, man, you've got a Templar-scaring hero to seduce._

The Champion held him close, adding, "I may also have enlightened her with the knowledge that if she were to throw caution to the wind, and if I were to take my revenge in as bloody and painful a way as I could devise, my actions in light of her existing poor standing among the citizenry would only serve to further my own image. I rather think she got the point after that. She wouldn't swear an oath, but she did comment on the good fortune for all involved that she took no issue with you staying where you are."

Presently Anders shifted just enough to kiss his guardian, and guide the man's hands to the clasps on his robes. "Good fortune indeed. Though I have to say I always envisioned less stubble to tickle me when I kiss my… wife."

Hawke's eyes lit with humor, and his hands stopped before releasing the healer's robes. "That's how it's going to be, is it? Oh, dear, I may just feel a headache coming on."

"Lucky you're playing house with a healer then, isn't it?" Anders shrugged off the robe, laughing low in his throat, and with a finger pushed Kirkwall's new Champion – _and mine, for much longer_ – back onto the bed.


	27. Proditor : Anders

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  **Possible slight trigger warning**. Unstable thoughts ahead.
> 
> For our introduction to Act 3, in keeping with the format from the story as a whole, we pick up after Anders's first companion quest.
> 
> Through Act 2, the story saw Anders through some ups and downs and mental back-and-forth, and as that cookie crumbled some less obvious shifts were noted as well, just leaving a little crumb here and there. Three years have passed now.
> 
> For context and timing, there are some cues below that will let you know what's going on around Hawke and Anders – a familiar setting for revelations. In a break from the usual style, though, Anders isn't feeling very communicative at the moment…  
> 
> 
> * * *

_Look at him, the way he watches me when he thinks I'm not looking. He thinks he knows me. Did he ever wonder if I know him just as well?_

…

 _There. In his eyes. He's thinking about last night, and Maker, I wish I was, too. That kind of peace never lasts for people like me._

…

 _I could live in that room. If he never left it._

…

 _Now he's wondering what he doesn't know. Does he think I can't_ see _it, right there on his face? Those damned poultices haven't confused him for years._

…

 _Should have let it be after we left the mine. He was fine with poking around for stone scrapings and piss leavings. Not like the sisters pay any attention to what goes on in there, anyway; I could have done without a distraction._

…

 _He'd understand, though, wouldn't he? The way he looked, that night, like he wanted to take it out on the first Templar he found. No, that's not right, that's not him. Who?_

…

 _He keeps telling me he's proud of how I stand for myself. Wouldn't he agree I deserve to get a little of my own back after all this time?_

…

 _No. No. No. Even if I did, it can't touch him. He never did anything but_ give _. He can't know, he can't help._

…

 _He said he knew I'd have stood for the mages, too, if I'd been the one to get between Meredith and Orsino. Torturer and wastrel, all they are, adding muck to the pit everyone else has to live in._

…

 _If he wants me to stand, wouldn't he want me to strike back? That's what he says we're doing hauling those mages out of the Gallows. He knows that place is wrong._

…

 _No. No. It can't be on his head, not on his hands. Not after everything he's given me._

…

 _He loves me. If he knew…_

 _I hate what I am now. If he knew…_

 _No. He can't ever know._

…

 _He wants… He wants to leave now, to go home._

 _Home. Safe. I don't deserve it, not now, not anymore, not ever._

…

 _I don't deserve vengeance either. Never have._

…

 _I'll take it. It'll keep him safe._


	28. Observator : Varric

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  **TRIGGER WARNING**. Warning about a character's potential suicidal episode ahead.
> 
> The plot thickens. Well. Not really. Most of this ties closely to straight canon, although I can see why they wouldn't out-and-out _say_ what's going on in the game.  
> 
> 
> * * *

Hawke pushed down at his newest nagging worry, absently offering thanks as the serving girl _– must be new; don't think I've seen her here before_ – set a pitcher of ale and a bowl of stew on the table beside him. He hadn't asked for the pitcher, though he'd gone down to the bar to have his mug topped off enough this evening that she must have thought to save him a trip once his food landed in front of him. _Definitely new, if she thinks being nice to the custom is the way to impress anyone in here._

And Maker, where _was_ that dwarf? It wasn't like Varric to be late for anything. Hawke was sure they'd said seven bells, and here it was gone half past and not a chest hair in sight. He hadn't felt guilty for making himself at home in the dwarf's private rooms; he'd been welcome here for long enough that Corff only blinked anymore when he _didn't_ head straight up.

 _He doesn't show soon, I'll already be three sheets to when he gets here. Well, that's all right then. He thinks I'm funny when I've had a few, and Maker knows with all that's going on lately having a head tomorrow's a small price to pay to let it all go for a while._ If that thought happened to coincide with his reach for the pitcher to pour out another, it was just a happy coincidence. It occurred to him as he noticed the mostly drained bowl in front of him that he hadn't eaten all day.

 _Ha. Must not have, if I got this far without wondering if the meat of the day had a name before it ended up in the stew. All right, that's not fair. Corff wouldn't do that, although some days he might be better off if he did…_

Hawke was ready to raise a search party after the eighth bell came and went. It wasn't impossible that Varric had some business or other keeping him, but he'd at least have sent a runner with an admonition to stay sober until he could join in. Something wasn't right. Belatedly, Hawke looked over at the hearth and saw Bianca on her mount, so it wasn't likely there was any danger, but… He was about to head down to find – all right, after all that ale, call out for – Isabela, to ask if she'd heard something when he caught sight of the dwarf double-timing up the stairs.

"What bloody time do you call this, then, Varric? Bianca was starting to worry, and you know how she gets."

Ignoring the barb, Varric snatched up Hawke's mug and drained it in a single go. Refilling it from the handy pitcher, he drained it again, repeating the motions until there was nothing left to pour out. "Mark it on your calendar, Hawke. I'm about to tell you something serious without any jokes to pave the way. Had a meeting in Darktown; ran a bit long, thought I'd be here before now or I'd have plucked an urchin and sent him running. I stopped by the clinic on the way back to see Blondie since I was there anyway."

Varric paused, taking what seemed to be his first breath since rushing up the stairs. More focused now at the mention of Anders's nickname, Hawke sat up, shifting to the edge of his seat in the process.

The dwarf caught the mage's eye and continued. "He came over all eloquent, telling me what a good friend I've been to him over the years. You know me and humans crying, so I tried to shove him off. Then he went digging in this box and came up with a pillow that he tried to push at me, telling me it was his mother's and he wanted me to have it."

Weighed down under as much ale as it was, a memory managed to bob to the surface for Hawke. "The one she made, that he didn't remember carrying out with him the day the Templars took him?"

"That would be the one. I got nothing out of him, Hawke. After I told him I didn't want the damned pillow he just moved on to the chatter, normal Blondie mode. But I gotta tell you, something's not right there."

Well and truly drunk, Hawke tried to grasp through the haze for the significance of what he was hearing, and came up empty. "Why would…"

"Sodding stone, Hawke, how many have you had?" Varric waved away whatever answer he might have gotten, turning now to face the fire. "A man doesn't just give away something he's carried with him for his entire life for no good reason. He does it because he wants to be remembered. You know, Hawke, because he thinks something's going to end? Or maybe because he _knows_ it is and wants to make some last grand gesture? Something's going on, and if anyone's going to figure it out, it'll be you."

When no response came after a moment, the dwarf turned around, ready to urge his friend into action.

The mage was already gone.


	29. Conservator : Anders

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  **TRIGGER WARNING**. Discussion of suicidal inclination. Nowhere near as bad as it could be, I assure you.  
> 
> 
> * * *

Hawke's knee touched the cobbles as he slid, swinging a sharp turn out of the tavern door to find his path to Darktown. Biting back a curse, he pulled himself upright, the urgency in his mind warring viciously with the fog of Maker knew how much ale, his forward motion never stopping.

 _He wouldn't… It has to be Justice, something the spirit is pushing for that he doesn't want…_ "Sorry, miss, no harm!" _How did I not see it? He's been so quiet, but nothing's happened, nothing's changed, why would he…_ "Andraste's sanctified _ass_ , there weren't this many steps here yesterday!" _What could that spirit possibly want that would push him here? We're doing everything that can be done, we've rescued more mages this year than in the last five put together. Surely he sees…_ "Bugger! Hey, lady, you don't want it broken, don't shove your table out into the bloody street!" _No, no, not again… He'll be there, he'll be fine. He has to be. He_ has _to be._

He found some space to simply _run_ as he rounded another corner into a straight path through the marketplace, and the freedom to move seemed to gust away some of the alcoholic haze that hampered him. _Maker's breath, you can't stop thinking about the man,_ he thought, gesturing even as his lungs started to press against his chest with the exertion of moving. _Get that spell going and give yourself some Maker-be-damned_ haste!

Hawke absently registered that the feeling of the stones against his feet became lighter with the spell, and his balance seemed to improve as the pace of his sprint picked up. Scrambling down another set of stairs toward the passage to Darktown, he threw a wisp over his head out of habit. He hadn't come through this way since they'd moved into the estate, but his magic still recognized the familiar rusted grate even if he couldn't coherently think about what he was doing.

Twice more he barreled around corners, heart thudding in his chest and knees scraping through mud and muck and Maker knew what else. He hit the clinic door without a break in his stride and found Anders standing at the surgery table.

 _Alive. Catch your breath. You got here, you've got him. Breathe._ _Oh, Maker, he didn't even jump when the door smacked against the pillar._ His pulse had barely begun to slow when a glint caught his eye in the waning light. _No patients, but is that…_ _No, no, no, he's holding one of his surgery knives._

He stumbled forward now; small, frightened sounds escaping his throat as the healer turned to face him, a puzzled look on his face. Later, Hawke would remember seeing the cleaning rag in the man's opposite hand as he turned, but now he couldn't push a single thought through the terror that had seized his mind. Pain jarred him even further as his hip connected with the table, but he was here, he'd been in time, things would be _fine_. Heedless of the sharp edge at his lover's hand, he pulled Anders into a kiss, feeling an urgency he didn't think he'd ever match, unable to dislodge any of the words clawing at his throat. Reaching, clutching, he grasped down Anders's arm, seeking and searching, until he found his hand and pried the knife away.

Presently, the blond man watched the instrument fly across the room, striking the leg of a bench and kicking up dust as it skittered off into a corner. "Davin, what… what in the world has come over you, what's wrong?" With more curiosity than worry, he noted that the wisp hovering over the other mage's head was jumping in place, jittery and flickering.

Puzzled, confused, but to Hawke's ears it felt flat, vacant. It was Anders's voice, and still he heard none of the man within it. Breath coming in short and ragged gasps, he managed a hoarse whisper. "You can't… The pillow… Don't… Don't leave me, don't… You have to… Tell me you won't go, you'll stay, tell me… Tell me you won't leave…"

"Davin, what? The… pillow, that was just…"

The automatic denial rang false. Sobbing now, heavy and unashamed, Hawke shook the healer by his shoulders, a fleeting thought striking him that he'd never before handled the man so violently. "No, no, no, _no_! You won't go. You won't. _Say it!_ " The plea echoed in the empty room, singing back sorrow and fear and a lifetime of love he couldn't stand the thought of losing.

Stunned, unable to process the change in the man before him, Anders opened his mouth to speak and … found himself breathing, deep and shuddering and _aware_ as he hadn't been for days, weeks, and he saw now how close he'd been. And even still, he couldn't help but be unquestionably _moved_ by the strength of the need he'd heard. "Oh, _Maker_ , Davin, no. No, no. I'm not going anywhere. I'm right here. It's me, I'm here, I'm back, I'm staying." He pressed a kissed the man's head and pulled him close.

The maelstrom blowing out of them both, they sank to the floor, knee to knee, holding and being held, just being.

* * *

"It's you." Hawke's relief was palpable, blanketing the healer as if to ward away the chill of the abyss they'd stepped away from. Steadying now, he repeated, "It's you. I thought… At the pub, when Varric told me, I didn't even wait for him to finish. I had to get here, I had to _run_. All the way, I saw you and I… The last run, in Lowtown, when Mother… I couldn't stop seeing it, and I had to get here, and then I saw the knife, and…"

Now the full weight of what the man must have gone through punched into Anders's gut in an instant. _Oh, Maker, I was_ there _when he…_ "Love, I'm so sorry. I had no idea, I… What you must have thought… I'm here now, I'll always be, and Justice… Justice wants you to know he's sorry as well, that he'd never meant…"

Shifting now, Anders saw what he could do. He settled back against the wall, pulling the other mage back against his chest. _We're both healers after all, aren't we? Maker knows we can relax more than we are now, without sending our legs to sleep besides, and we'd need it after such an ordeal..._ Circling his love's chest with his arms, he gathered his thoughts.

"Please, can you… Can you tell me…" Hawke returned his focus now to breathing, to calming, drawing on the comfort of being held.

Anders had already understood he'd need to reassure the other man that the danger had truly passed. In that moment, with Davin laid bare as he was, he offered silent thanks to the Maker and, equally bitter and sincere, to Justice, that he would be able to give him what he needed.

"Justice has been… He's consumed me, lately, in a way he never had before. I'd resisted, I was arguing with him, almost constantly, that we can't do any more right now than we already are. When discussion didn't work, he... changed his approach. He'd push me to work on our writings, he'd find some urgency, some immediate need that I'd felt before and bring it up again without any purpose attached to try to nudge it toward the cause, toward the mages.

"When that didn't work, he dug for the memories. The Circle, that cell, the Templars… He'd push them at me, over and over, calling up all the rage and helplessness and fear and asking me if it wasn't past time to strike them back, to take the revenge I was due and create justice for myself.

"Weeks this went on, never the same argument twice together, never the same memory, until I'd seen them all enough to know what he was dredging up before it hit me. It got so I couldn't stand it anymore, and then I found that Justice would hesitate when that out, that escape occurred to me, that I could threaten him into retreat with ending it, with losing his host.

"I can't lie anymore, Davin, not to you. It had gotten to a point that I'd decided to take that escape. Not now, not today. That wasn't what you saw when you came in, I swear to you, you got here in time. Justice, though… When he saw what it was doing to you, he pushed into my head that he'd seen in that moment what an injustice it would be to take me away from you in that way. He regrets it, and he asked me to give you his word that it won't happen again. He hasn't left, but he has retreated. I'm here," the healer soothed, softly. "I'm staying."

As Anders wound his way through the events, Hawke had managed to still his terror and think. He'd suspected Justice had been the cause. There were so many things he wanted to say, but couldn't, not if Justice would overhear. Pushing Anders to look for a need for vengeance, and through such vile and revolting means… No. Hawke was certain Justice wasn't Justice anymore. There was a decidedly demonic bent to these tactics, but beyond that, he had no idea.

 _Cousin Amell._ The thought presented itself out of nowhere. _Right, Danica told me in her last letter that the king had mentioned something about a possessed boy, during the Blight, something that hadn't ended with another nightmare. I'll have to write her again, and soon._

For now, it had begun to sink in that the crisis had passed. He closed his hands over the healer's and leaned back into his shoulder, happy to pass the time on a dirty Darktown floor as long as his love was here, whole and safe.


	30. Vir Fortis : Carver

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For those of you who wondered where I was going with Carver, here he is. Dual perspectives for this one, as for the life of me I couldn't imagine telling it in any other way.
> 
> And can I just tell you how nice it is not to have to throw up a trigger warning after the last bit? ;)
> 
> The chapter title is, rather appropriately all around I think, a translation of "a brave man."  
> 
> 
> * * *

Little light though it gave, and none of it true, Hawke's wisp flared like a beacon in the close, damp confines of the tunnel. Pausing only long enough to let their eyes adjust halfway, the mage and the healer continued forward at a brisk pace. It struck Hawke that every time they passed through this wretched cavern, he was never more anxious to see it go than in this moment, when they had only each other for light, for a sense of place. Following quickly was the realization that, whenever they pushed back out of the dark, he was always a little bit sorry to see it go. They'd done so much, but in the weak glow of the Darktown torches that would eventually greet them, he knew he'd never feel they'd done quite enough.

It had been some weeks since he and Anders had returned here, Hawke needing that time to assure himself that V… Justice had stayed true to his word, that his love had regained himself permanently enough to risk a venture like this. _Justice. Keep calling him Justice, even to yourself. Can't have "Vengeance" slipping out in the wrong company. Present company included._

Recognizing that need, Anders had volunteered to close the clinic for a few days as they'd picked themselves up from the floor and headed for home. They had both… indulged… during those days, lying in of a morning and lounging by the fire past sunset, Anders finding more of himself than he thought he'd ever had since Justice and almost glowing with the pleasure of sharing it with the other mage. Just hearing the man _laugh_ had done more to cement his newfound control than it seemed the spirit's retreat had accomplished.

Hawke had wanted a bit more time, but when the message came to him, it was clear that he and Anders would be the only ones able to take this run. Templars' scrutiny of those suspected of involvement with the underground, mages or no, had greatly intensified with the number of escapes this year. While their compatriots may have been willing to risk themselves, they would never risk the mage who hoped to be free. Tensions in the city had risen steadily, though, and both the Champion of Kirkwall and the Savior of Darktown found themselves shielded by an almost deliberate blind spot on the part of the Templars.

As their feet carried them around the final corner to their destination, both mages silently repeated the hard and fast rules of conduct for the exchange that was about to take place. _Lose this discipline, and lives will go with it._

 _Never acknowledge recognition of any party involved, here or hereafter._

Hawke had certainly been able to name a number of the Templars who'd helped the mages on the inside to become the mages on the outside. He'd lost count of the times he'd taken a terrified charge from Ser Thrask, and Ser Emeric, and Ser Moira. Two of the three were now dead, Emeric in that alley and Thrask on the coast. The lack of Templars who could be trusted to see a mage safely into the care of the underground heightened the tension with each new run. True to that first rule and the necessity for intrigue, each of those Templars had gone out of their way to introduce themselves to him, a courtesy he returned, when he first met them outside this cavern.

 _Never speak more than is absolutely necessary._

Not only would the delay of conversation increase the risk of discovery, but anything above the lowest whisper echoed like the viscount's own symphony in this passageway. The vast majority of the escapes Hawke had helped to facilitate had gone off with nothing more said aloud than the sign of the runners and the countersign of the Templars, to confirm their purpose and seal the accord that would allow them to be at peace together, however briefly.

 _If you must impart information, speak it concisely and immediately hold your tongue. Never commit to paper the fact or circumstances of your purpose._

Far too much was arranged by letter as it was, when servants or sympathizers with easy access to both the Gallows and the city beyond couldn't find a safe chance to whisper instruction or innuendo. Hawke had seen firsthand – and been lucky to survive – the consequences of a missive gone astray.

Sounds of clanking and clamoring now, coming from the vestibule ahead. Grabbing Anders's hand so the man could stay steady, Hawke extinguished his wisp. No sense being caught out before they were certain who approached. Around a small corner, both mages knew, was a steep staircase that led to a concealed hatch in one of the storage areas within the Gallows. Presently, the sound of steel on steel stopped, leaving only the panicked breath of the mage the Templar had guided down the steps.

Hawke hissed out his sign, his calling bouncing off the walls of the cave. When the expected countersign was called back, barely a whisper, he restored the wisp and the two mages moved closer to the vestibule where their charge was hidden. If the Templar was prudent, he wouldn't move further until they were long gone and he was ready to climb back into the Gallows; if talk echoed loudly, armor would sing.

The Templar continued whispering as they approached – if there was information to pass on, this would surely complicate the run, as it had each time previously. "She's been… violated. Recently. She'll need a…" The whisper trailed off as the mages came into view. "…healer."

Never before had Hawke been tempted to break any of the rules of exchange. This morning, it took all his will not to shout his worry and his pride as he gathered the frightened young woman out of the arms of his brother.

* * *

The waiting was the hard part. Three nights had passed on this assignment, and no one had yet materialized to be whisked out of the tower. It couldn't be planned to the day, he knew, but Maker was the anticipation ever robbing him of sleep during his off hours.

When Ser Moira had approached him, Carver hadn't hesitated in agreeing to take his place among the dwindling number in the Order willing to see mages out of their prison. Acting as a calming presence, trying to show the mages that not all Templars were the enemy, had long since stopped being enough. He had the respect of any number of them by now, sure, but that didn't change their circumstances.

Using the ruse of a rumor of blood mages that needed investigating, Moira had requested Carver as her support on leaving the Gallows. Well away from the Circle, it was simple enough to instruct him in the way things were done. And wasn't it such a shame that whoever had inhabited that den in Darktown was long gone before the pair of Templars could find them and put them to questioning?

When Carver had seen the week's patrol schedule, himself on night duty patrolling the eastern wing with the kitchens and the stores and the library – all vacant in the dead of night – and Ser Moira posted outside the infirmary above, he'd known something would move this week. Not knowing when the opportunity would come made it more difficult with each passing night to keep his focus, to maintain the easy cadence of patrol through the corridors. To settle himself, as he'd done in the past, he silently recited the cardinal rules that were never to be broken.

 _Never acknowledge recognition of any party involved, here or hereafter._

This hadn't been an issue for Carver up to now. Twice before he'd helped a mage out through that cramped hole under the kitchen stores, and those waiting to greet them hadn't been mages themselves. They could have been anyone.

 _Never speak more than is absolutely necessary._

Carver reflected, not without humor, on the year before he'd joined the Order, when he couldn't have been arsed to say two words to most people without a blade at his throat. Having seen what passed for kindness inside these halls, he wanted nothing more now than to shout the horrors he'd learned from the rooftops. But that had never been an option, as any unnecessary attention would only bring quicker retribution for the betrayal to Meredith's cause.

 _If you must impart information, speak it concisely and immediately hold your tongue. Never commit to paper the fact or circumstances of your purpose._

In fact, in the odd letters he'd sent to his brother, he'd carefully avoided discussing anything that went on in the Gallows. Made for short missives, sure, but he kept them honest and detailed enough that even Meredith, for all her paranoia of late, couldn't possibly see any hidden meaning.

It was almost a relief during that fourth night, when Moira hustled a trembling young woman out of a side corridor and into his path. "We weren't seen," the senior Templar whispered. "But neither is she finished being treated for injury. She was restrained and… assaulted last evening." Before the question could be voiced, Moira continued, her voice thick with disgust. "Yes. _Assaulted._ Cullen has already heard of it, and I trust he'll see justice done. Maker speed your steps."

Silently, allowing the reluctant mage to lean on him, he guided her into the stores and took a few steps down, ready to support her on the descent into the cavern below. He had a vague impression of light filtering around the corner that led out into the cavern proper as he looked around, though it retreated almost before he'd seen it. Only after he breathed out the appropriate countersign did it return, bringing with it the sound of approaching footsteps.

"She's been… violated. Recently. She'll need a…" As he recognized the blond hair and feathers, and the familiar visage of the other escort he met, he forgot for a moment his duty to this mage, to let her rescuers know what had become of her the evening before. "…healer."

Handing the trembling mage over into the care of his brother and… his other brother, he supposed the fair-featured healer would have to be by now, he met the man's eyes, and couldn't remember ever holding them for so long a time as he did this morning. As quickly as his knowledge of his conspirators had come, they were both away, moving quickly whence they came.

Carver stood for as long a time as he felt safe, wanting any sign of the fleeing mages to be gone before he started the noisy prospect of returning to his post. As he waited, the world going black around him, he found his thoughts touching briefly on Ser Moira before floating back to Lothering, almost two decades melting under the warmth of his realization.

 _Sister Dara was wrong. There wasn't a wizard in that tower. There were two. Nothing so great as all that is ever done alone._


	31. Manere : Anders

The scratch of pen on parchment and the crackling of fire helped, oddly, in Hawke's efforts to learn more about the arts of healing. With Anders's blessing, he'd gone digging through the healer's assortment of books and scrolls after a recent – and painful – encounter with a high dragon. He still wasn't entirely sure he hadn't dreamed the whole thing. _Blood mages every time I turn around? Sure. Horned giants on a religious crusade? Easy. Little dragonlings, large spiders, and the odd pissed-off guardian of ancient elven relics? Why not? But a_ high _sodding_ dragon _?_

It hadn't been until that battle that Hawke had been less than content with the gap between his and his love's mastery of Spirit Healing. He knew, even now, that he would never match the man, but if he hadn't lost his focus and shuffled off to study Arcane defenses there wouldn't have been near as many injuries. Seeing how quickly Anders had been able to put fallen friends back on their feet during that fight had brought him back to his studies on restoration. _And the fact that he spent the entire trip home singing, "I know something you don't know," under his breath had nothing to do with it. Can't wait to see what Varric does with that._

Short of knocking someone he knew and held in moderately high regard ass over elbow, there wasn't any way for him to test what he'd learned now. As his mind wandered, he noticed that he could no longer hear Anders's writing. Swinging a leg over the arm of his overstuffed chair as he turned to look at the desk behind him – _I can just hear Mother saying, "They're called_ arms _for a reason, Davin."_ – he found the healer staring at him.

Caught, Anders didn't wait for the question. "What? I just like looking at you."

Hawke arched a brow. "Why don't you come over here and say that?"

Anders joined him, leaning low to rest his elbows on the back of the chair, stretching a bit to meet the man for the kiss they both wanted. "It just occurred to me. I hadn't ever thought of leaving you."

"You don't mean-"

" _No_ , I don't mean the business in the clinic with the pillow. I don't think there will ever come a day when I'm not sorry for doing that to you. I mean in general, which is kind of a surprise to me. It's what I do, isn't it?"

That last was said on a sharper, more bitter note, that called to Hawke's mind a number of the recent barbed exchanges with Fenris while they'd been out on some mad quest or other. "Knowing you as I do, I can't say in your place I wouldn't have made the same decisions. I know I've said as much before. You gave as good as you got yesterday anyway, and Fenris was just being irritable, but if it truly hit that hard _we_ can always sew _his_ lips shut." Hawke tapped a finger to his own lips, as if considering the idea.

Grinning in spite of himself, the healer smacked the mage's chest, just lightly, with the back of his hand. "It wasn't that. Or not precisely. It just got me thinking, is all. Even if there was never anyone like you for me to leave behind, I have left people who've depended on me. Do you… ever worry, that you spent all that time helping me sort myself out, only to have me bugger off in the end?"

"Mother always said that good things come to those who wait. Well, everyone's mother says that, usually when their children are whining about the length of time to dinner and they've planned a meal they know will be fussed over. But no, I haven't worried, precisely because you _did_ sort yourself out before we did anything other than gaze longingly at each other across poultices and bedpans."

Now Anders mimicked the playful slap from a moment ago. "I knew there was a romantic hidden somewhere in there."

" _And_ as you well know, I didn't spend any of that time getting you sorted out with any expectation that the nature of what we were together would change. I did it because you're worth knowing, and everything you've been to me since has just been a bonus. A very enjoyable, comfortable bonus."

"And then you say something like _that_ , and maybe I'm not surprised I hadn't ever thought of leaving. What else is it mothers always say about good things? They all come to an end? I suppose with my history, it's a wonder I'm not still waiting for you to decide I've done something hideous with Justice and run for the hills yourself."

 _And who did_ that _come from, I wonder…_ "I'm not sure you're capable of doing anything hideous. You, of all people, Anders. But I'm not letting you get away that easily. I might have to prod Justice into making an appearance so I can kick him around a little, but I'd be sorry for the bruises when you came back."

Anders might have been concerned, then, about what would happen when the time came and Justice wouldn't let things lie any longer. But Hawke was intent on proving his point, and a pair of hands snaked up to grab him under the arms and tumble him over the chair, into the mage's lap. Even if they weren't gone, his worries were soon forgotten.


	32. Regina : Isabela

Hawke stepped into the Hanged Man and, seeing the pirate occupied, passed the time of day with the Qunari mercenary he'd run into out on the coast. She'd left a note on the desk in his parlor with the rest of his mail, asking him to come round for a chat. He had stopped asking Bodahn whether he let her in ages ago. He'd improved the class of his locks several times over the years, and still the woman had never had to lower herself to something so boring as knocking on his door. When it became clear the mercenary wasn't interested in any further conversation, he took a seat at the bar and tuned in to the last bit of the discussion Isabela was having with the half-dozen or so men gathered around her.

"Right, that's the lot of you in, then. See Gerod on board for an introduction. I've no date planned for lifting anchor, so have whatever fun you like, but I expect you all to be on board and ready at each tide's leaving. I want the ship – and you – prepared to go each and every time." Isabela lifted a hand as the men traded glances with each other. "First one to complain gets strung over the bow by his balls. Get on with you."

Amused, Hawke watched the pirate's newest recruits mumble their way out the door. "Isabela! I think I like you this way, all authoritative and threatening. Why have I never seen this side of you before?"

Isabela snorted and lifted the mug that had arrived on the bar beside her. "Please. You had your chance years ago, but you were too busy giving the eye to a bird of a different… feather."

"That… may have been more than I wanted to know."

"Ask a stupid question. I see you got my letter?"

"I did, and at the risk of asking another stupid question, were you aware that the letter _i_ isn't meant to be quite so bulbous on the top?" _Even the woman's script is suggestive. I would never have imagined…_

"I haven't any feathers, so I had to get your attention somehow. In any event, it's good you waited for that lot to leave. You and our fine, feathered friend are still open to a bit of sea air, are you?"

"We are. I can't say exactly when, but I appreciate you staying until we figure it out. Captain."

Isabela laughed now, her eyes gleaming. "It feels _so_ good to hear that again. Almost better than sex. In which case, I'd better enjoy it, as that's all I'll be hearing after we're off. Given any thought to where you'd like to go?"

"Well… Eventually, yes, but I wouldn't want you to think I was hijacking your ship."

"Of course not. That's why you waited for my new underlings to leave before giving me lip. And if you ever do give me lip in the middle of the ocean where any of my men can hear, I'll-"

"String me over the bow by my balls?" Hawke's face lit up with an impish grin.

"Exactly. I wouldn't let any of the crew hear me being open to suggestion, as it were, but you _have_ earned a say."

"Hmm. What I had in mind was…" Here he lowered his voice, not wanting to be overheard. "…Minrathous."

" _That_ nasty place? Why?" Isabela hissed her distaste, but brought her own volume down as well.

"Just a… gut feeling I have."

"And would this have anything to do with you receiving letters from your cousin on her knowledge of demons, and how one might best be rid of one?"

Hawke's stomach sank. Bodahn had discreetly placed Danica's recent letter at the bottom of the pile, as he'd been asked to do, but if Isabela had seen it… "How did you…"

"All right, all right, I'll admit I snooped. Just a little. That look on your face, my dear, tells me even more you probably didn't want me to know. Keeping secrets from a certain spirit, are we?"

"Yes. Please." Somewhat relieved the letter hadn't been anywhere it would have easily caught Anders's eye, Hawke felt a new wave of guilt at keeping anything from the healer. _But, as you've told yourself a dozen times already, whatever Anders sees, Justice sees. Good thing Danica knows the meaning of the word 'circumspect.'_

"All right then. Secrets are my business; you've no worries here."

"Secrets and money are your business, Isabela. It usually takes one for you to keep the other."

Pinned, the pirate had no choice but to press. _It's as I've always said; do one nice thing for someone and it'll bite you in the ass later. Never mind that it's more fun to take anything besides gratitude off this one._ "I didn't say I was letting you off completely free. Tell me, has Anders shown you that electricity thing he does?"

Hawke was determined to give her nothing, but he should have known he'd never outplay her. He thought for a minute about spewing effusive thanks to take back the upper hand.

The pirate actually applauded before he could speak, sloshing a bit of the drink she held in the process. "I knew it. Your face says 'piss off,' but that quirk in your lip says 'oh, yes he did.'"

"Never let it be said that a Hawke didn't pay his due, I suppose."


	33. Luctus : Anders

The weight of the day's grisly events, which had started just after midnight the night before, was plain on the healer's face. Listlessly, he discarded various articles of his clothing on the floor, keeping only his smalls, until he reached the bed and stretched out with his arms folded behind a pillow.

Though Hawke would have liked to provide a cheery counterpoint to his love's melancholy, he felt too close to the same to do any more than mimic the healer and stretch out on his side next to the man.

After a moment's quiet contemplation, Anders said, "That was a good thing, what you said to Walter and Cricket. About what Evelina turned into not being _her,_ and about it being a kindness given the way things turned out if they don't tell the rest of the children about her coming back."

"Was it? I can't say I was able to give it a lot of thought."

"Enough thought to tell them they could come find one of us if they felt the need to talk more about it. Whatever happened in the time between her escape – and how she managed that without the underground I'd dearly love to know – and that business in the sewer, I'm… I don't know, I'm trying very hard to find some reason to understand what would have had her so desperate as to let a demon in so completely. She _knew_ we were taking care of the children; Walter said he'd told her."

Hawke shifted a bit closer now, so he could reach to rest a hand on Anders's chest. "I'm starting to think it's to do with the Veil, really. I noticed when I got here it was in bad shape, and it's only gotten thinner over the last seven years. Could give the beasts in the Fade an easier time toying with some mages' defenses, couldn't it?"

Anders was silent for a time, the look on his face giving away the fact that he was having a different sort of conversation now. After… thinking about it briefly, he offered, "Justice thinks you may be onto something there. Tied as he is to me he's not able to test it himself, though he says he wouldn't have any desire to poke at someone in that way in any event. But it sounds logical, to both of us."

 _Not really sure I believe Justice wouldn't jump at the chance to snag another host by this time, but Anders's word, I'll take._ "Then I think I'll choose to see it as a comfort, to believe Evelina is as much a victim of circumstance as anything else. It can't just be the Gallows interfering with the Veil, though, can it? I know the place is a horror, but wouldn't it normally take something on the order of a mass slaughter to get it into the condition it's in?"

"I can't say I know, really. I never devoted that much time to studying it when I was in the Circle." Here Anders allowed himself a ghost of a smile at what felt like an ancient memory. "Might be worth bringing up with some of the other mages when we see them, if we find ourselves in a position for a discussion that doesn't start with, 'the queasy crow flies at midnight.'"

"Not fair, bringing that out," Hawke admonished, laughing around the words. "You know I could never bring myself to slap the smart-mouthed healer across the face." Hawke did, however, lever himself up briefly to plant a kiss on the man. _Always knows just what to say and when to say it. I'm starting to think all this cloak-and-dagger business with Danica and Minrathous will be worth keeping a few things from him._

"Maybe we can believe the same of Huon, then. I'd like to think so, anyway, stuck as he was here for all those years. "

Now Hawke grinned at the experience in the Hanged Man this afternoon. "I can't believe you had Isabela actually considering Emile du Launcet, offering to teach him a little something about electricity if she'd go."

"Can you blame her? Not like she has easy access to Fereldan mages now most of the refugees have scattered. Though they wouldn't have made themselves known, anyway."

"Open secret in the Circle?" Hawke teased.

"Very open."

"I've been meaning to talk to you about that, actually. It is, as the pirate so succinctly put it, _nice._ No reason I couldn't learn to do it, is there? There would definitely be a worthy reward if you're a good teacher."

The look of fond recollection on the mage's face had Anders's lips twisting into a smile. "You'd take to it quite well, I'm sure. I'll let you in on the secret on one condition," the healer offered, lifting a hand and letting a spark dance between his thumb and middle finger. "Promise me I'm the only one who'll ever see you use it."

Hawke shifted up, swinging around to kneel upright astride the healer's legs, his eyes never leaving the crackle of energy on his love's hand. "A promise easily kept. But don't, by the Maker, touch me with that if you want me able to pick it up. I'm already distracted enough as it is."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Another plot issue with the game here. If Evelina was known to Anders and Hawke previously, as she would have had to be, there's no way the business with her in Act 3 could go unremarked.


	34. Salutem : Aveline

Aveline chatted idly with Orana in the parlor while Bodahn went to dig up one of the masters. When it came to it, she decided it didn't really matter which of them answered, but being at one remove as she was from whatever was going on with Justice, she hoped to have this particular conversation with Hawke alone. _Something going on with that spirit, tugging the man in a dozen different directions as he's done over the years. Best if Hawke figures out how to get Anders involved, but I'll see this done either way._

"It's amazing how you still look like a warrior even without the armor, Guard-Captain," Orana's voice fluted back into her thoughts. "I used to wish I knew someone like you when I had to go shopping in Lowtown, before M… Fenris offered to walk with me if I ever had to go there."

"That was very kind of him, Orana. I swear if he wasn't so wrapped up in his own agenda I'd have dragooned him into the guard by now. If we had him, according to Varric, we wouldn't have to worry about housing any female criminals as they'd all swoon over the law books to please him."

Orana giggled, thinking there might be some truth to that, if the reactions she'd seen were anything to go by. "Of course, I don't have to ask him very often. Almost every time I go, it's to meet Mistress Isabela. She keeps saying she wants to show me a hat shop she likes, but there's so much in the markets there we haven't yet had the time to see it. And then she refuses to let me come back alone – oh!" the elf clapped a hand over her mouth. "I wasn't supposed to tell anyone that part!"

Aveline allowed herself a small, entirely private smile before lifting a finger to the side of her nose. "It's all right, Orana. I won't mention it." _To anyone but the whore herself, next time I need to throw her off her stride._

"Won't mention what?" Hawke called from the stairs, where he was descending ahead of his helplessly gesticulating manservant.

As the captain turned, she had to struggle to contain the laugh at seeing the vexed look on Bodahn's face behind the flailing arms. By preceding the dwarf down the stairs, Hawke had cut off any opportunity to formally announce Messere to his guest. Aveline had no doubt in her mind that this had been deliberate. After thanking Orana for keeping her company, she joined the man at the stairs. "Is Anders not free to join you?"

"No. We had a runner from the clinic. One of the refugees who hasn't been able to get back home is in labor. Had two sisters with her, so he made me promise not to go in to help, which is fine by me, really. The fewer births I have to watch from that angle, the better. You're out of uniform, Guard-Captain."

"This isn't entirely a social call, though I judged it best to stay… unofficial, let's say."

 _Must be big. She hates keeping guard business off the books, much as that practice was involved in putting her where she is._ Hawke nodded through to the sitting room. "Then will you join me in opening that bottle you arranged for us last Satinalia? Anders saw the label and declared it sacrilege for him to share it with me, knowing he'll just burn it off without being able to enjoy it properly. I did remember to thank you for that, didn't I?" _Not to mention the last time I indulged in anything on my own and beyond the point of reason, I ended up tearing through Lowtown and the sewers in a blind panic. On the list of things that will never happen again…_

"You did, though I hardly think a half-social visit from me is a special enough occasion for a liquor like that."

"Please. You're in the way of being a sort of self-contained… event… just on your own, and certainly special enough."

"And you called _me_ bad at it… All right," Aveline unstrapped the sword from her waist and settled herself into a chair, thinking a drink would ease her purpose here nicely. "Orana seems to be getting the hang of freedom, then. Although what was with the 'M… Fenris' business I heard from her?"

"Oh, that?" Hawke passed a glass to his friend and settled into the other chair. "Haven't you had the privilege of seeing the look on Fenris's face when someone calls him 'Master,' even if his name follows directly after? I understand the significance for him, but it's not always easy to choke back the laugh."

"Still not got 'Messere' down? Though she's doing well enough to compliment me with my own title, I'd say."

"Baby steps, I think. Took Fenris over a year to convince her she's allowed to leave the house on her rest days, and another six months for her to stop apologizing to me afterward when she did."

"Davin Hawke: saving the world, one downtrodden soul at a time. That's actually what brings me here. You and Anders know people who know people and so on, and I'd probably do well to ask you to share this with Varric as well. Not a soul in Kirkwall who doesn't listen to him, and it's about time that did me some good after all the trouble I've had with that Donnen Brennicovick of his." Aveline took a moment to line up her thoughts. "I've had… tensions, with the Templar order, and I mean things are more strained than usual so wipe that look off your face."

"I couldn't possibly know what you mean, Aveline. I'm simply enjoying the bouquet of the fine spirits you've seen fit to grace me with." Eyes dancing, Hawke had to look away from the steely stare coming across the table before he ruined the moment by laughing right out loud.

" _Anyway_ ," the captain continued pointedly, "Meredith informed me by letter early this week that on her orders, the harboring or aid in any way of apostates is now to be considered a hanging offense, and she _expects_ that my guardsmen will enforce this command as if it were my own."

"My part in this becomes clear," Hawke sipped from his glass, thinking again that Aveline truly _did_ know her spirits. "You need someone to help you hide her body."

"Hardly. Well… Nearly, actually, but no. As I said, you know people who know people, and I'm certain those in your extended circle of acquaintances trip over apostates on a very regular basis. With the contacts you, Anders, and Varric keep up, I'd like my position to be known as widely as it can be. I reminded Meredith that she remains the Knight-Commander, that she is not, in fact, the viscount, even temporarily, and that the city guard exists to maintain the order of secular law, not Chantry law. I then… intimated… that the hanging of anyone for an offense not on the city's books would have to be pursued by the city guard as a murder enquiry. I can't promise my guards won't, on their judgment, return a mage to the Gallows, but I want it clear that we're not to be the instrument of their deaths simply for the fact of what they are, either."

"Said all that in your return letter, did you?"

"No." Aveline said this definitively and with no small note of satisfaction in her voice. "I said all that at the top of my lungs in the Gallows, with a full complement of my lieutenants at my back. She declined several requests for a meeting on the matter, mind you, and refused a private discussion even after I made clear that I was there to disagree with her position."

 _And who said she had no mind for politics? Wait. That was me. She_ could _have given in and written a return letter, but I do like what all the baby Templars in earshot would have been exposed to during that shouting match. She'd have thought of that, knowing her…_ "We'll get the word out, Aveline. But you do realize this will be just one more event in the pattern you've established of scaring the piss out of Varric."

"He's due a reminder. And tell him not to call Meredith… What was it he said in Orlais? Bat-shit crazy? Or… No, don't tell him not to call her that. It'll only encourage him, and I wouldn't like this to be the story he chooses to use for some new dedication to telling the truth."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Several things in the game that struck a wrong chord with me are represented by Aveline. She's devoted to her duty, yes, but she also gives a sense of knowing what's _right_ , which takes the law-and-order-stick-up-her-ass-driven friendship/rivalry meter out of synch.
> 
> I've always been a bit less bothered, but still put off by, the friendship/rivalry system itself as well – while I agree with the sentiment that it's possible to respect someone enough to follow even if you disagree, the way this party comes together, and the complete polar opposite ends of the spectrum friendship/rivalry puts you on, there would be no _reason_ to stay if you didn't have some personal stake in what's going on. I can say from experience that I've worked for people I didn't like, and I know damn well at least a couple of people who worked for me for years hated almost everything that came out of my mouth, but business and politics are two entirely different things.
> 
> And back to Aveline, she always struck me as seeing her duty to be protecting the citizens of Kirkwall. How is it that she waits until the very end to do something about the threat to the city coming out of the Gallows by way of Meredith's insanity, and even then only does so because Hawke bats his eyes? Another wrong note there.


	35. Praeruptus : Anders

Hawke stood, arms folded across his chest, passing his eyes over what he supposed passed for finery in his armoire. Naked, unconcerned with the fact, hair still damp from the bath, he kept shifting his gaze to the newest armor he'd acquired, all red and black and _powerful_ , on the stand next to the fireplace. He didn't look around when he heard the door open and close again, instead giving voice to the thought that had played through his mind since he'd started this insane deliberation. "Am I or am I not the _last_ person in Thedas who should have to be concerned with the tactics of wardrobe?"

Anders turned around and locked the door before answering. "You do realize I could have been anyone. What a scare tactic your current attire would be if it had been Orana coming through the door. You know she's in and out of here all the time, seeing to the chamber pots, examining that armor for flecks of blood, looking for clothes to launder, polishing the business end of that staff-"

Now Hawke turned around, a wicked grin playing across his face. "That's entirely your domain, love," Hawke crossed the room now, letting a quick kiss soften the jest. _Maker, the man can blush at an unintentional double entendre. For all his worldly experience, some part of him will always be innocent. Is it any wonder it's_ him _, and no other?_ "Shame there isn't time for more than that just now. I do take your point, but if I'd locked the door, you wouldn't have been able to come in and advise me on, of all things, what to bloody wear."

"Am I or am I not the _last_ person in Thedas who should be giving advice on fashion? I'm not sure feathers would be _you_ …" In spite of himself and the weight of the meeting Hawke had managed to get this afternoon, the healer couldn't help being amused at the sheer amount of aggravation he heard from the mage.

"It's not the fashion that concerns me. Bodahn put all that frippery in the armoire with the sets together for me, so I'm not able to screw it up and look like I'm trying to set a new trend. Or just look like an idiot. The question is…"

"Do you go as a noble or as the Champion of Kirkwall? For whatever my opinion is worth, I say go in from a position of power. Meredith was the one to confirm your title before the nobles, even if it was their authority that gave it to you. Use that with Elthina. Acknowledge it, even, and let that give its own strength to your conviction." Anders stepped behind the man and started working at the stress in his shoulders.

"I suppose you have a point, but if you keep doing that it'll take a few goes for me to get into the leather breeches. They don't offer a lot of room for… having a point." Catching the blush in the mirror at the edge of his vision, Hawke chuckled to himself.

"I swear I'm spending every minute I can find in the sun from now on, just so you can't detect any color after you let your filthy mind out to play." Laughing himself, the healer kept on with his ministrations. The light mood would help with the stress, and the knots under his hands were evidence enough that Hawke fully understood the importance of the discussion he planned to have with the Grand Cleric.

"Problem is I got to be Champion by setting off fireworks in the Keep with magic. The nobility were all very impressed watching me char the Arishok, but if I go in as the Champion, I'm going in as a mage, and an apostate, which I worry will put Elthina off given the nature of my business with her. You're right, though, that if I walk into the Chantry as a noble I'll have already lowered my status before I even start, which will make anything I have to say less important when they remind themselves that I'm the Champion because of my magic. I suppose I have to take the title with me and find a way to make my past actions for Kirkwall speak out." The mage stepped away, digging through a drawer for a clean set of small clothes, regretting in some little way that he was losing his medium for making the healer color up again before he left.

"You've several weapons in your – stop it – arsenal to bring out with her. You can only do what you can do, love. What makes you the Champion, today, is that you're trying."

 _Then again, if he offers the setup…_ Hawke smiled to himself as he reached for the armor stand.

"Is it true what I've heard?" The healer went on as he helped Hawke into the complicated – _but worth it; really worth it once he's got it on, and not just for its magical properties_ – armor. "That Aveline is hosting mages in the barracks?"

"And one or two in her cells once she ran out of room, though on my recommendation she's barred open the doors to those cells and ordered the sergeant to keep twice as many torches lit round the clock. She's even prepared to charge them with vagrancy if Meredith says anything about _harboring_ them, which shows how far gone the Knight-Commander is in her opinion. They've been assured she'll lift the charges when the coast is clear," Hawke added, correctly reading the look that passed across Anders's face.

 _Feels like the world is falling down around us right now, and he thinks of things like torches and making sure the cell doors can't shut. And I_ know _he wouldn't have, if it hadn't been for me._ Anders sighed, wondering if he'd ever stop finding new reasons to love the man.

Seated on the bed to fasten up his boots, Hawke continued, "The arrangement is only temporary – for now, until after I report in when I'm finished talking with Elthina. Any of them feel the need to get out of the city then, she's prepared to leave that to me. I'm not surprised at any of this, given recent events, but I did pause for a moment when even her eyebrow didn't ask how I planned to get them vacated."

"Ha! Perhaps _we_ should send _her_ some spirits. Other than a few days ago, does she even go off duty long enough for that to be appropriate?"

"I _did_ hear one of the vintners in Hightown going on about something with a hint of marigold as I passed not long ago…"

Dissolving into laughter, Anders pulled the mage up for a kiss to send him on his way. "For luck. Best not be late, even if we haven't any idea what the woman could possibly be doing with her time. Oh, and Davin?" He paused, waiting for the man to turn back at the door. "In case I haven't said it enough just lately… I love you."

Immeasurably warmed by the immediate grin and return of affection he got before the man disappeared through the door, Anders settled in to wait. And, eventually, to worry.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Davin is apparently twelve, with some of the innuendo getting tossed around in here. Although for those of you following the pattern the story has taken, I'd think we should enjoy the reprieve while we have it...
> 
> As a side note, Word believes I should replace "Arishok" with "artichoke." There goes any hope I might have had for taking the Qun seriously at any point in the future... ;)


	36. Mea Culpa : Merrill

Hawke couldn't remember a single moment in his life when he'd been as infuriated as he was when he left the Chantry. He was certain Elthina hadn't seen it, just as he was sure he'd played his hand the best way possible. It had all gone in one bloody ear and out the other, he had thought, followed by the bitter notion that it hadn't taken a blood mage to set his own boiling in his veins.

Most of the edge had been taken off before Aveline had left him in the barracks. She had some words for the Grand Cleric herself, as well as an invitation to go speak them as soon as she was finished with Hawke, but on seeing his face when he stormed down the stairs decided those words could wait. Instead, she had pulled him into her office, given him the privacy of a closed door, stepped to the center of the room, squared her shoulders, and lifted her hand to make a silent come-ahead gesture.

Hawke wouldn't ever know what she'd intended, or if she'd been aware she risked making herself a physical target for his anger. Seeing her stand for him in just that way without any conditions on her offer, though, had blown out his rage more effectively than if she'd given him the rest of the day with the wood and straw figures in the training salle she kept for her guards. For her to trust him to that degree, when he'd never felt less worthy, well… Once he had come back to himself as much as he could have done after venting the rest so she'd know what she was walking into with Elthina, he was able to see the irony in feeling so blessed immediately after cursing everything to do with the Grand Cleric and her Maker-be-damned Chantry.

When five bells tolled nearby, he realized he'd been settling for the best part of an hour. Aveline had asked him to get the mages sorted out while she tried to beat some sense into Elthina, making clear that the mages were welcome to act the part of vagrants for another few days if they chose, while everyone waited for the political tension to ease. Pushing out of the visitor's chair where he'd finished updating the captain, he decided he'd bring the mages from the cells up to the room in the barracks with the rest. It would be more cramped, but it would be private, and more comfortable than discussing their apostate status with iron bars for ambiance.

The sergeant on duty had told him the cells were clear except for the mages now, so he shouldn't have to worry about anything that was said. As he descended the stairs, he became aware of the good fortune in that current condition. Hearing an incredibly familiar voice, he paused in his steps to rub at his eyes as he recognized Merrill's chirping lilt coming up from the jail.

"…Aveline looks out for everyone! I can tell she's looking out for you, too, because she's got all these torches and things and even if you tried you couldn't close one of these doors. That's so clever, the way the bars just stick out like that! So what sorts of mages are you all? "

Hawke heard another woman say hesitantly that she was a healer, but the other voices were still too muffled for him to make out whatever other answers the elf received.

"How interesting! I know a couple of healers. Aveline said you know one of them, too. His name is Hawke, and I heard he was going to talk to the Grand Cleric this afternoon. Me? Oh! I'm a blood mage. But only sometimes. I like using electricity when I can. It makes such interesting sounds when it – Hawke!" Merrill scrambled up from where she'd been sitting on the floor, legs folded beneath her as one might expect around the fire in her old Dalish camp. "Varric told me _all_ about what Aveline is doing for the mages here. But then he said she ran out of room and some of them had to stay down here in these dreary cells, so I came by to cheer them up!"

Stepping around the corner into full view of the mages staying here, he addressed each of the… visiting mages with a finger, offering to each of them in turn: "Yes," "No," and "Sometimes, neither can I."

The lone woman, whose face had asked " _she can't possibly be serious, can she?_ " started to ask her follow-up question before Hawke cut her off. "It's well in the past, and truly it's more ancient elvhen than blood."

The first of the men, who had been wearing _"is there any possible way_ this _woman could be that dangerous?"_ in his expression relaxed fully after Hawke elaborated.

The other man, also an elf, had rolled his eyes in such a way as to say, _"I can't believe I'm hearing any of this."_ He settled on laughing, now that someone had arrived to save them.

As they passed, Hawke said, "Understood," to the sergeant on jail duty, whose face plainly said, _"now you see why I posted myself out_ here _."_

"I missed something dirty again, didn't I?" Merrill trilled as the five of them walked up for the last conversation Hawke wanted to have.

Merrill stopped him before they joined the mages in the cramped barracks bedroom and assured him things would be all right, but for the first time since meeting the elf he couldn't take anything from the comfort she so sincerely offered. He could convince the mages to hope for Aveline's success where he had failed, but right this minute he was so damned tired he couldn't manage to hold on to a shred of hope for himself.


	37. Solacium : Anders

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Had to take a little creative license with the timing of The Last Straw, being as Fenris has another chapter coming up here. Since we're all about balancing the scales in this chapter, I borrowed a little bit of canon from Act 1. ;)  
> 
> 
> * * *

Hawke closed the door behind him as quietly as he'd opened it before leaning back against the rough wood grain and covering his eyes with his hand. Even without having to walk through this foyer and tell Anders how he'd failed, he was certain in this moment that he wouldn't feel at home. He felt the absence of his mother, almost as sharp as it had been years ago, and finally allowed himself to acknowledge with a weary acceptance that today marked the anniversary of her death. _Another failure. Another life I couldn't protect._

"Erm… Messere?"

Looking up now, Hawke saw Bodahn peering tentatively through the door into the parlor. "Yes, Bodahn?" He was sure the dwarf could see his struggle to regain himself, to carry on, to _move_ , as he stepped through the next doorway.

"A… letter arrived, from the Circle of Magi. The messenger asked that you read it straight away on your return. I've left it with the others on your desk. Guard-Captain Aveline also sent a man to speak with Master Anders about the events of today. Master Anders is now in your chambers."

The world seemed to have slowed. It felt as if the entire evening should have been consumed in the time it took to cross the room, to open the envelope, to step back to the fire, and to read the letter from Orsino. As he watched the last of the paper turn to ash, he was almost surprised not to feel the morning sun burning through the window above. "Bodahn."

"Yes, Messere?" The dwarf wondered after a moment if Hawke realized he'd spoken aloud.

"Find a runner. I want all the usual crew, any who are available, to meet me in the courtyard at the Gallows at six bells tomorrow evening. Tell them it's bloody urgent Circle business at the direct request of First Bloody Enchanter Orsino, and from the sound of things I'll need everyone I can gather."

"Yes, Messere." The unlikely manservant considered how he might reword the message as he watched his unlikelier master walk into the sitting room to stand, staring at a different fire with the same lack of focus. _The runner can wait for a moment,_ he thought, moving quietly past the doorway to the sitting room and up the stairs.

Even knowing he wouldn't have to recount the details of his conversation with Elthina – her refusal to see that Meredith had overstepped her authority in ordering hangings for civilians, her refusal to directly address the growing number of reported violent attacks against mages, her argument that Meredith and Orsino were still capable of finding a resolution together, the confidence that still rang false that Meredith shouldn't be relieved of her command… It was still another failure on a day for failures, and just now he couldn't summon the energy to do more than gaze down at the tidy flame and wonder what in the Void the rest of the world seemed to see in him.

So Anders found him, having heard from Bodahn that _urgent_ meant tomorrow evening and that the Champion needed him now, "whether Master Hawke knows it or not."

 _Nothing's happening tonight, Justice. Whatever comes will be tomorrow, not before. Whatever will be taken from him then, right now I can give. It may never be justice, but tonight, I'm needed_ here _, and you… aren't._

Freed from the spirit's insistent sense of obligation, he stepped quietly into the room, gently closing the door behind him. The healer crossed over and stepped behind the mage, head on his shoulder, reaching up to clasp their hands together against Hawke's chest. From here, he could see silent tears softly falling to the other man's chin to break away and descend to the hearth, catching the light of the fire as they fell. They stood for a time, gently swaying, the blond man seeing his way in the glinting drops of his love's misery and grief, before Anders began to speak with a calm purpose he'd never before known.

"I've been thinking today, you know. About how far we've come, about everything we've done. The Champion of Kirkwall and the Savior of Darktown, those names that mean the world outside these walls and not a damned thing within. And it occurred to me that they shouldn't, because we have to find our peace somewhere, and that would never happen here if we couldn't lay our burdens at the door and _take_ what respite we're able to find.

"Inside other walls, we're so much more, you and I, than convenient names that pass others' lips as if just saying them will invoke the order they wish for. There's a family of children looking up to Walter now, some of them better cared for now than they were before they had to flee here. He told me yesterday they owe it to us, and when he tells the younger ones stories to send them off to sleep, they refuse to hear any tale whose heroes aren't named 'Hawke' and Anders.'

"Countless mages are no doubt thanking us for their flight from the Gallows, or for saving them ever having to go. It may seem a heavy weight to bear, knowing what many of those mages suffered before we arrived, but I know enough to promise you that even if we never forget the pain, we will forever think first of the one who caused it to stop.

"There's an untold number of people who will never remember either one of us as heroes, though they will remember us. The hundreds, perhaps the thousands of people who made do after fleeing the only home they'd ever known, who came to us in our clinic in their hour of need. However great that need may have been, they'll remember the men who gave freely of themselves so they could go on surviving, best they could. And many of them will even realize that we never asked for their memory, either, and that will prompt them to speak of us to their children, their grandchildren, who are born into a better world.

"In here, there are the two of us, who no longer need to speak of what we've been to each other to know, tonight, what we are. The favors and kindnesses, the comfort and love that have passed between us to this day won't ever be forgotten, woven as they are into the whole of _us_.

"You've been thinking today, too. About Elthina, and the chance you represented to help more mages than just one at a time. About Leandra, and the weight of the blame you've carried in the years between. About Bethany, whose weight you also let me share for you, just as you shouldered for me some of the burden of Karl, and the whip, and the darkness. I like to think, now, that your mother and your sister can see all the good you've done, all the pain you've brought yourself so others might suffer less. I know I do, standing here with you now.

"You told me once that we can never predict the outcome of our actions, that we can only make them with a true heart. That's who you are. That's all you've ever done. Those of us who know you, those of us who are privileged to love you, for who you are, don't tally the outcomes and weigh one against the other. We don't keep score, Davin. Neither should you. But if your need today is a measure of the mark you've left, you've just heard how that scale is weighted."

Quiet now, the bright flashes of pain in the firelight slowed, then stopped, and Hawke turned around to return the healer's embrace. As the tidy fire exhausted itself, they moved to the stairs, and after a time, they found their peace.


	38. Vigilax : Fenris

Hawke stepped through the door into the busy Hightown square, willing the late morning sun to ease some of the strain of anticipation from his shoulders. Beside him, Fenris began walking with purpose, his destination appearing to be a small alcove between buildings up the way. They hadn't yet gotten to the reason for the elf's visit, though in truth Hawke was grateful for a momentary reprieve from the energy and anxiety humming through his estate.

Rounding the corner into the small, almost entirely concealed Hightown cranny, the mage stepped into the shade. As he watched his most unlikely of friends lever himself up onto an abandoned crate for a place to sit, resting his sword against the crate between his legs, it occurred to him that this might be the ideal time to ask a couple of questions of his own.

Fenris, ever cautious, watched the nearby corners for a moment. He didn't resume their conversation from Hawke's parlor until he felt certain there would be no one to intrude. "Anders appears to be… agitated. Do things remain well with the spirit?"

The mage considered his answer for a time, deciding eventually that some degree of confidence in the elf was warranted. "I… don't know, anymore. Our summons to the Gallows this evening has, as you said, agitated the both of them. Anders hasn't had a moment's peace all morning."

"Are you expecting a great measure of conflict?" The elf offered no reservations, simply curiosity.

"I'm not sure what to expect. Orsino made it sound as if the situation is at a breaking point, but he gave me nothing of the circumstances. It could be something that will have blown over by the time we get there, or it could be something that blows up in our faces. Either way, when this is done, I have to find a way to…"

Fenris didn't prompt the mage for more. He'd been present for a sufficient number of delicate situations over the years that he could see Hawke's struggle to decide how much information to offer. When the man finally did speak, his decision to confide was clear, but he was clearly no less conflicted.

"Justice…" Hawke trailed off again.

"…Is no longer Justice, and has not been for some time." The elf finished. Were they discussing anything else, he might have been amused at the shock prompted by his perception. "I recall telling you that I would watch any mages among us carefully. Though I may do so now for different reasons than I have in the past, the trust I have placed in the three of you has given me no call to cease my vigilance."

Fenris leaned back now, hands splayed to support his weight, a foot shifting to hold his blade upright. Before the mage could absorb enough to respond, the warrior continued. "In six years' time, I have yet to see you use your magic for your own benefit. I have never felt your power without seeing in your purpose the placement of all others above yourself. There is within you a nobility I have come to admire a great deal, as you more than any other have shown me the truth behind your conviction that magic is not the mold that makes those of you born with it.

"In this time, I have come to see that for all her lack of understanding, Merrill has been much more cognizant than Anders of the dangers represented by the creatures of the Fade. As impossible as it may be, I have even come to believe that her dealings with such beings, on the rare occasions I have seen her seek them out, have been… moral. And in all this time, I have come to understand that Anders himself is not a mage. He is a healer, a man called to his purpose more strongly than any I have ever met. Whatever other occupations have engaged him, whatever deviation from that nature has been engendered, have been prompted by the creature he hosts. Of this I am certain, however… personal his own motivations for cooperation may be.

"If you will return my trust, I would know of your intentions regarding this spirit."

 _Ha. Add one more weight to Anders's scale from last evening, then._ Hawke blew out a breath. "I've been corresponding with a cousin of mine, a mage who remains in Ferelden. After the Blight, the Circle of Magi chose her as their representative when the king asked for a court advisor to speak for the mages. She's given me valuable information, and has shown me that with the proper resources, a way exists to free Anders from this spirit. Our only complication presently is the reception we'd see from anyone we approached to help, as a number of mages would be required for the task. The minute they see a grown man fully possessed, their inclination will be to kill him without a thought for anything else that might be done. You… don't seem surprised at my intention to rid Anders of Justice."

"In truth, I could envision no other answer. The magnitude of the betrayal that would be required to see you onto the more expedient path is so great I cannot imagine what form such treachery could take."

"Then you should know I've arranged with Isabela for passage, as soon as I can find a reason plausible enough for Justice, to the only place I can believe the spirit's presence will be suffered for long enough to find the needed resources and… allies." Hawke paused here; for much the same reason as he never prompted Anders to dig into his past, he didn't want to send Fenris back to _his_ , either.

"Tevinter." The disgust in the elf's voice was plain.

"Tevinter." Hawke dipped a small nod. "Specifically, Minrathous."

"You will remember that, as you yourself have said in the past, Tevinter is entirely alien to most of the rest of the world. For your purpose, I might normally wish to speak to you at length of the differences you will find, though I am certain that simply hearing of it will not sufficiently prepare you. Dwelling on what might have been being as futile an endeavor as it is, I would offer to accompany you when you go, if you will have me." The offer was casually made, betraying none of the significance behind it.

 _Then again, some things don't need to be spoken, for one reason or another._ "I wouldn't have asked it of you, Fenris." Barely a whisper, and Hawke was grateful that the softness of his words befit the sentiment, as in that moment he wasn't sure he could manage anything stronger.

"Had I thought you would, we would not be having this discussion – any of it. I will not speak of this in the healer's presence; I am aware that the spirit cannot know of our intentions. You will need at your side someone who knows the ways of the magisters and the people they rule. When that time arrives, you will find me there."

Fenris abandoned his seat with his customary grace, leaving Hawke to sort out the gratitude neither man had ever sought to receive. When the mage returned to his estate and saw that his love had also found some measure of calm, brief though it may be, he began to wonder if their way out might just be more attainable than it seemed.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The final character chapter before the climax. I've said before that I feel the need for characters to develop, but I'm incredibly surprised at how easily Fenris came to me this time around. Still suspicious as hell, but given his life experiences I think that will always be in his nature. At least by now, he's accumulated enough facts and evidence to start making some reasoned decisions.


	39. Fugae : In Uthenera

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For those who are following the stumbling Latin, you may recall that Chapter 35, before the pace picked up and we rushed toward the climax, was titled "Precipice."
> 
> The Chantry is gone. Orsino and Meredith are both dead, Hawke and his allies having stood with the mages. Here we see the exit from the Gallows from a number of perspectives, bringing to a close some of the headcanon character development I've been doing.
> 
> Without further ado: "Flight."  
> 
> 
> * * *

_Let the blade pass through the flesh,  
Let my blood touch the ground,  
Let my cries touch their hearts. Let mine be the last sacrifice._

-Andraste 7:12

* * *

 **Varric**

Sodding stone, after all that, the Rivaini had better see why I don't plan to be made a Paragon anytime soon. I've had enough of statuary to last a few lifetimes.

Hawke's eyes have been leaking on and off ever since we stepped out of the Gallows and found the dingy little Lowtown alley we're using to regroup. For all the times I kidded about seeing humans cry, I hadn't actually thought he was capable of doing it. At least, in the handful of times he's spoken, his voice has been clear. Doesn't take half a brain to recognize the shock in it, but it's been clear.

Good on him, though, for not trying to hide it. None of us would have bought it if he did.

He's here now, at the mouth of the alley, waiting to hear what I have to say. I think he needs a minute yet. Wouldn't have given her credit for sounding so certain about anything, but he just heard the same diatribe I did from Daisy about one death not being close to enough to balance the scales after what we all just saw. Can't really blame her for being upset, either. She'd be the last of us I'd expect to come through that many horrors that close together without cracking at least a little. The way she looks to Hawke like he's some kind of beacon, if he's leaking I wouldn't be surprised if she floods before too long.

Boy had better hold it together to take care of her.

I think it's time, now. "You're going to need someone here who can tell the story, Hawke. I haven't heard what your plans are, and it's safest if I don't."

He nods. I can see it settling in, dawning on him what I'm offering. Not sure I'll ever be able to write the story, but when the time comes I'll tell it. Everywhere I've looked in the hours since this sodding war started, I've picked up some new piece of grisly imagery, but setting this scene might be beyond even me.

"Find me at the Hanged Man before you get on that boat. Got something to give you."

Another nod. Now that we've stopped, I think things are catching up with him. He'd better start again quick if he wants to make it out of here alive.

"I'm going. Get moving on laying out your escape strategy, and I'll see you on your way there. I gotta start thinking about what to tell who to cover your path for a bit."

There are all kinds of suppressing fire. I'm damn good at every one of them.

* * *

 **Aveline**

Another bloody war. Revolution or not remains to be seen, with the one who tried to start it not here to incite anyone else. Varric was right, though. Hawke needs to get his ass moving.

He's back to listening to the pirate, although how much he's actually hearing is anyone's guess. I'd never admit it right out loud, but it does my heart good to see some of the shock chip away when I take the dwarf's place at the mouth of the alley and give him the same come-ahead gesture he got from me yesterday. Thought that would do it.

"I… can't follow where you're going, Hawke."

At the brief dip of his head, I know he takes my meaning. With him getting on that ship, I'm the last symbol of any authority the city will have while we figure things out, and someone's got to coordinate rebuilding. There will be looters, there will be riots. Hawke would also know, even if it's nowhere near the front of his thoughts in this minute, that Donnic would never follow me if I got on that boat and left the city to fend for itself.

I wouldn't deserve the man if I did.

"For what it's worth, Hawke, you did the right thing. You're _doing_ the right thing. Kirkwall doesn't need a Champion now; it needs to stand for itself. You'll question your choices, many times, but you've done everything that can be done."

Maker only knows what this man is trying to push down inside of himself. His eyes are brimming over again, but he still appears calm. Those of us who do what we do, though… We know better. If he were staying, he'd have it together. We always do, while there's someone left to stand for. I can't blame him in the slightest for indulging in the luxury of his flight.

"Go. See to your plans. As with the dwarf, it's best I don't know what they are, but I expect to hear from you in the fullness of time."

I'm not saying goodbye. Not again. He sees that, even as he tells me to keep Donnic close, and lets me know he'll be sending someone my way for safe passage out of the city.

And then, as he returns to his place among those who remain, I've only one more piece of business. I have to remind myself again that I'm not saying goodbye, as final as all this seems now.

"Oi! Poxy tart!" It takes her a moment to realize I've addressed her. Even if she wouldn't say it, I can see in her face that she's amazed I'd call for her, in that way, at such a time. Almost before I realize what's happening, I find my wrists crossed at my breast in familiar salute. Though thinking of it, I can't claim to be surprised to see myself doing it. If ever that were to be appropriate, it would be now, unlikely as I am to forget her stunned expression. "I don't let go my care lightly, and I would never give it over to just anyone. See them safe – Captain."

And then I'm gone, out of the alley and pushing double-time toward the barracks. I've orders to give, and it's best not to think too hard about what I've just done. Though really, my sword never was my only choice for watching over those who matter.

* * *

 **Fenris**

The myriad horrors of the evening feel… inevitable. Was it not just this morning that I said to Hawke I couldn't envision the scale of the betrayal it would take to see him turn away from the healer? Among the fresh dust and debris coating most of the city, what startles me most is that I am not surprised at all by my friend's decisions today. He will ever take the right path.

He accepts my statement of such in his stride, before he bids me collect certain things for the voyage with his brother along to assist me in bearing their weight. I am humbled; with the pain of the night's events so plain on his face, he takes care to request these things of me. He does not make demands.

I realize now that cannot recall a single instance, even in the thick of battle, when he has not given me a choice. And now, he has none. No matter his past accomplishments on behalf of this city, and no matter what reparations may come in the future, he remains a mage, one who was present during the largest cataclysm in the city's living memory. Until Kirkwall settles, there is only one place in Thedas where he can exist without the constant fear of a blade at his back. Even with the pall cast over our earlier discussion by the tone of Orsino's letter, I had not imagined our flight to Tevinter would be upon us this quickly.

"Merrill was correct."

He questions me on my meaning, as she has said a number of things since we paused for a brief respite in this alley. I would never have imagined her incessant chattering to be a comfort, but I find it has soothed me to believe that some things remain constant.

"She was correct, when she said that only one death will not create justice for the harm that has been done here. Take from it what you will, but in this moment we should interpret it as a call for haste. Varric's misdirections will need time to take root, and Aveline will not be able to shield us indefinitely. Before we are away to see to your task, you must speak to your brother of lyrium. One of us should need to acquire a great deal of it for the voyage ahead, addicted to the substance as Templars are."

The younger Hawke clearly understands my intent, even as he scrambles to join the conversation and offer assurances. I am pleased to see the concern pass over my friend's face. I had begun to doubt he would be able to reason before our embarkation.

I can be content now, to watch over the safety of my friends from the alley's exit, at least until Carver is ready to see to our duty.

* * *

 **Carver**

How in the bloody Void does the elf know about the lyrium? No matter – I can discuss it with him on the ship. Not that I'll care about leaks in the Order's ranks, having been one myself for this long. I know this much: I'll not be going back to the Order, whatever comes of it.

Before I can begin to explain, I'm taken back as I have been many times to that first year in Kirkwall, and the years that came before. That look is back on Davin's face, that expression that always used to carry admonition and reproach. Maybe it's not seeing it since taking my vows, but all I can see in it tonight is his concern and his need to know I'm all right.

"I stopped the lyrium years ago. Most of us who set ourselves up with your underground ended up hearing that it's not necessary for the abilities. The ill effects were only minor, I promise you. I went off slowly, since the Tranquil who see to that sort of thing aren't going to be inspecting chamber pots for the lyrium we didn't take."

And now I can see his relief, and my error. The shock has come back to him, and the pain with it, since he hasn't got an external worry to keep him sharp. I'm not sure whether he'll hear the rest of what I have to say to him, but it won't stop me saying it.

"You saw for yourself, that morning in the tunnel, that I've grown up. Took me a few years in the Gallows to get to it, but I only ever disagreed with you because you were right and I was just going along. It was small of me, but I wanted it to be me being right, and doing right."

He's tilted his head now, and I can tell he's giving me the benefit of the doubt. Well, I would be too, knowing how much we have to accomplish in the short time before the tide goes out.

"Point is, Davin, I can recognize good decisions, wise ones, when I see them, and you've made them tonight. That's all you've ever done when you were faced with more than one road to take. Here on out, I'm following you because of your choices. Not in spite of them."

I wish he were stunned by the clap I gave him on the shoulder, but no. It was hearing his name. I'll have to remember to use it more. For now, I'm needed to haul a chest full of necessities to the ship with Fenris, as he asked.

* * *

 **Merrill**

Well, that was certainly exciting. Blood mages – daft bugger, opening a vein as he did after we'd won, and just _why_ can't Circle mages see how dangerous the spirits really are? – and moving statues and lyrium swords. I wish I'd known about those scary statues earlier. I would have tried to get one in Lowtown so I didn't have to be bored when I walked home.

And Carver didn't even stutter when he said he wanted me to stay with Hawke, while he goes about collecting things and doing things and… things. I wonder what that means. But it isn't as if he had to _ask_ , not _really_ , because I'm not stopping until I see Hawke on that ship. Even if I am terribly excited about seeing a ship Isabela's way, instead of spending all my time in the hold.

Carver was right about one thing. We really _can_ trust Isabela to see everyone safely on board. Even if she thinks she shouldn't be trusted, she's always done the right thing in the end. Just like Hawke. I should tell him about that. Oh! Wait! I already did, when I was shouting earlier. He seems to be calming down now, so it might not be a good idea to bring it up again just yet.

At least he's determined now, but he really should be waving to Isabela with me as we leave the alley, even if we are running really, really fast. He doesn't even have to tell me where we're going. I know it's his house, because he said he had books and letters and things he wants to bring with him. Maybe they're about magic, since we're going to Tevinter. It occurs to me, I don't think I've ever heard about Hawke having a grimoire. I wonder if that's what he wants to pick up. If he has one, he should carry it with him all the time like I do. I'd tell him about that, but we're moving so fast I'd just trip on my feet.

Just as fast as we were running through the streets, he goes through his house and throws all sorts of things into a pack to take with him. It's a little bit amazing, how he always knows where things are. The first time he stops, I see him taking out a key and fiddling with one of the drawers in his desk. Then I hear him talking to Bodahn, about how the bags he's handing over have plenty of gold in them, and he should take Sandal to Orlais like they planned, right now, and how they should start by talking to Aveline because she promised to get them out of Kirkwall safely. Of course, she did. She's Aveline. That's what she does.

Then he gives Bodahn another bag, and asks him to talk to Orana about what she wants to do, and if she wants to go to Orlais would he please take her? If she doesn't want to go, he says to give her the other bag of gold and take her to Aveline anyway.

I'm just starting to think that Hawke has maybe remembered why we like him, because he always does the right thing for everyone he cares about. Then he gives Bodahn an even bigger bag of gold. Bodahn _hates_ carrying a lot of money, but he must think this is important because he isn't complaining. Hawke tells him to please give the rest of this money to Walter in Darktown – I think I met him once – on his way to see Aveline. I swear I don't know how he thinks of everything.

We run through the house one more time to make sure we haven't forgotten anything – I can't believe we did, with Hawke thinking about all these things the way he does – when he stops all of a sudden. I realize he's looking at a door in the far corner, and I remember someone telling me that was the room his mother lived in. Oh, no. His eyes are getting watery again, and he doesn't deserve that.

He looks down at me as I take his elbow and rest my head on his arm and stand with him for a minute. "Everything will be all right, Hawke. She knows you did the right thing, too, just like the rest of us."

And then he looks like he believes me now. Good, because he didn't yesterday, and... If he believes me, so can I.

* * *

 **Isabela**

Cutting it close, Hawke. Going to be a bitch getting out of here if you don't show soon. Oh, good. And he's still got Merrill with him. Gerod already has the plank coming up as soon as they're on board, and though it's never smart to give a pat on the back for something so mundane as efficiency this early on, I do think I've chosen well for my first mate.

"Everyone's here. I've put you in the spare cabin and got space sorted for everyone else. Had a couple of lads put the rest of your things there already, so it should be ready for you. You might as well go take a load off, my dears, because we're about to get very busy, very fast."

Whistling through my finger and thumb, I wave a hand at the pair for a cabin boy to show them round and get them situated. I could have told Hawke any number of things before he went off, but I know these people. He's heard it all enough already, without the shock of hearing certain things passing _my_ lips. And he's finally stopped leaking, for now anyway. Best he's away in his cabin before he starts again.

Turns out I ended up with a decent crew – they were here and ready, just as I instructed. And, with the way things are moving, I'm not having to call out orders or corrections nearly as often as I would have thought, having hauled in such a rag-tag bunch. Then again, they've had plenty of time to drill for it. I'm not surprised in the least to see Merrill beside me at the helm, promising to stay out of my way if I'll let her see some "pirate sorts of things."

Bless you, Kitten, I think that's the first time I've smiled all night.

And then she does surprise me, gazing back at the city and taking a breath, before I hear her voice again. It's definitely got a melody to it, and is even stronger than it was when she was shouting in the alley, which is saying something.

 _hahren na melana sahlin_

Andraste's tits, girl, I had no idea you could sing like that. Have I got a thing or two to teach you later…

 _emma ir abelas_

There's got to be some magic behind her, right now, the way her voice is _carrying_.

 _souver'inan isala hamin_

Clear as a bell, and it sounds almost… eldritch. Maker knows I can't have the men thinking about ghost ships _now_ , but I just can't bring myself to stop her, even if some of them are looking away from whatever it is they're doing.

 _vhenan him dor'felas_

Oh, balls, I felt that note right in the gut. Shut it off, Isabela. It won't do for the men to see you soft.

 _in uthenera na revas_

Does me some good to see the men a bit touched by it, though. Helps my image. Right. Long as they keep up what they're doing, even if they are staring at their feet while whatever remaining wordless melody she's got comes to a close.

"That was lovely, Kitten." All I can manage is a whisper, and somehow that's all that's needed. "But you're damned lucky I kept my eyes dry."

But if I'm honest… I knew getting back out to sea would be a comfort to me. I just never imagined I'd need it this much.


	40. Epilogue : Languentes Suscitat Iustitia

**Anders**

I'll be lucky to remember any of tonight, once everything settles. Especially after leaving the Gallows. It's almost been like a dream, getting here. A real dream, the kind normal people have, that doesn't involve spirits and demons and danger.

The way Isabela hauled me in here, telling me if I wasn't waiting when he's ready to talk to me she'd kill me herself, even though her expression said something entirely different. None of them, not one, have looked on me with anger. I don't understand it. They _saw_ what I did. They _know_ what I am. Even Merrill, screaming at Justice about how my continued living will be needed to balance what I've done, yelling when he didn't want to let me walk that he shouldn't have helped me do something that put me at risk if he didn't want me running away to the only place that will be safe. All I saw on her face the entire time she went on was kindness.

I'll have to tell him the truth, when he gets here. Maker, but I can't look him in the eye.

Then there were the men who brought in the chest, the one from the clinic that had all my books in it. There was even my grimoire, right on top. The memory is fuzzy, but I know Davin sent Fenris and Carver to get _something_. How could he think of that with all that was going on, with everything I caused?

And then Varric, in the packet he evidently passed to Davin that was sitting inside that chest. Three sets of walking papers, and they look legitimate. False names, and even if it's been years since I've seen them, damn if those don't look like Irving and Greagoir's signatures. Dated ages ago, but giving us legitimate reason to be wandering around nonetheless. If that even matters anymore.

I suppose there's something to be said for the fact that I was still half-catatonic when Carver came in. He gave me the pillow, that bridge between then and now that I've never been able to let go. He called me _Brother_. Maker knows what he'd have thought of me if I'd been capable of any kind of reaction just then. Or any kind of thought.

And Justice. He's buggered off to some dark recess. Probably doesn't want to think about how cowed he was after Merrill finished shouting. Can't get anything out of him now, not that I'm in a hurry to try. He's backed off. That's good enough for now.

I hope I do remember that alley, though. I could swear I heard people telling Davin he'd done the right thing. Hard not to hear Aveline, the way her voice carries. Even _Fenris_. I knew he'd backed down on the whole mage thing, but I would have thought he'd be first in line for my head.

Oh, _shit._ He's here. I can see he's been crying, and I have to hope it isn't as bad as I've seen before. I'm almost paralyzed, wondering what he's going to say, what he's going to do. But as he crosses the cabin and reaches for me, I'm not going to flinch away. No. I'm not doing that to him on top of everything else. It's hard, impossibly hard, but I won't.

And then… All he's doing is shifting me up, moving me down on the wooden bed so he can slide in behind me to sit against the wall. I… I don't believe this. He's pulling me back, settling me against his chest, and he's… His hand is on my chest, and he's whispering in my ear, and I'm hearing _on your time, then, love_ just like every other time he's been determined to wait me out.

It's… too much. I'm undone. I can't control it, I can't hold it in, I can't stop it once it starts. It goes on forever, long past the time it takes for Isabela to call out that we're clear of port and in the open. And all the while, every day of the six years we've had together is flashing through my memory and it feels like it's taking all that time and more before I can stop shaking and shuddering and finally _breathe_.

And still I can't speak. I _have_ to say these words to him, he has to _know_ , but I _can't_ , not yet. So he does, as he always has.

I'm hearing of injuries and sicknesses and children who fall asleep with my name on their ears, and taking respite and solace where we can. I'm hearing of weights, and scales, and balances, and I know I said all these things to him only yesterday, but I can't believe I'm hearing them now. And when I feel the press of his lips at the back of my head, I _can_.

"I wanted it. _I_ wanted it." I sound so flat, so hollow, even to myself. But he can't give me what I don't deserve. "When things boiled over the way they did, while you stood between Orsino and Meredith, all of the nightmares, all of the pain and the rage and the fear and the helplessness washed up all at once, flooding into my thoughts and pushing me to the edge, but… Davin, you have to know _I'm_ the one who went over it."

He hasn't stopped soothing my chest, or toying with my hair. And there are his lips again, and I'm hearing him whisper _I know_ , and I can't imagine why he would have all but carried me out of the Gallows as he did once it was all over if he knew it was my hand that caused all that atrocity. And then he's speaking again, and whatever else of tonight I lose I'm praying to the Maker now that I never forget _this._

 _I was standing between Orsino and Meredith, but I was watching_ you. _I knew when you reached the edge, and the second you stumbled over it. But I love you, Anders, and would be showing it poorly if I didn't catch you where you fell and forgive you your missteps._

He's not running away. After I… he's not running away.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I never expected my puzzling over what could make Anders change so much between Awakening and Dragon Age 2, about what would drive him to a terrorist act, would bring me to quite this much contemplation, but here we are. For those curious, the epilogue title translates as "Dormant Justice."
> 
> To those of you who have followed this story from its beginning, thank you. Readers and reviewers all, it has been incredibly rewarding to hear your thoughts and perspectives and to know that you've found my project, and my desire to make some sense of my favorite healer, worth your time.
> 
> As for the epilogue… I thought it was fitting, to hold Anders's perspective apart from the rest, given that he's been such a central focus for the story. The reason for it, really.
> 
> And if any of you are thinking, _"You evil bitch! You arranged it this way to drag it out through the last chapter trying to make us think Hawke had killed Anders!"_ Well… I thank you for the compliment, and if I did successfully plant that doubt, I'd ask that you please leave me a cookie in a comment. ;)
> 
> Again, thank you all!


End file.
